


Catch Me I'm Falling

by FeelsForBreakfast



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:45:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 72,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelsForBreakfast/pseuds/FeelsForBreakfast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don’t know if you get to choose who you fall in love with, who ends up taking a little piece of your heart with them when they leave. If someone had asked me, I don’t think I would have chosen Harry Styles, and I don’t know if he’d have chosen me. But standing here, looking back through the crystal clear lens of hindsight, I like my choices.</p><p>A fic inspired by The Fault In Our Stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

January 17th - Day 1

I both loved and hated the cancer ward. I loved being there for the kids who had no one to listen, and the ones who didn’t know what to say in the first place. To know I could help them in some infinitesimal way kept me going when I lay awake at night wondering what the hell I was meant to be doing with my life.

It was in the cancer ward that I met Harry Styles on January 17th, a gray evening that promised nothing spectacular. 

I picked up his file from where it’d been dropped on my desk, weighing the thing in my hands. It was heavy, heavier than normal. My fingers itched to open it, but I resisted, knowing that it was better to go into a first meeting with no expectations.

I entered his hospital room with my normal cheery smile on my face, preparing to meet my new patient. He was laying half-upright in his bed, his bright green eyes glued to the laptop sitting on his thighs, his face drawn and pale. He had a lovely halo of brown curls that arced around his face, the one side slightly matted down like he’d slept on it.

“Hello.” I said, drawing my clipboard to my chest and trying to portray a friendly attitude. “I’m Louis.”

He didn’t move, barely blinking. “Hello. You here to make me all better?”

I wasn’t deterred, I’d gotten this kind of reaction before. I found that while everyone wanted someone to listen, no one really wanted to open up. “I’d just like to talk, making you better would only be a pleasant side effect.”

He flicked his eyes up towards me, his face still blank. “You aren’t the first you know.”

I nodded. My supervisor had briefed me on the boy’s tendency to send therapists running, but I liked to think I was made of sterner stuff. “So I’ve heard.” I walked tentatively over to his beside, pulling up a chair. “Do you mind if I sit?”

He shrugged. “Go ahead.”

I slid into the patched up arm chair, crossing my legs underneath me and watching, trying to get a feel for him. He, on the other hand, was studiously ignoring my presence, staring at his screen like if he tried he could burn a hole through it. 

He looked small in his blankets, strong shoulders dwarfed by a pile of pillows and a comforter wrapped up around his waist. He had an air of defeat about him, like he’d looked into the future and accepted his fate. He wore death like a cloak, letting it seep into his pores.

“Do you want to talk, or should I just sit here for the hour?” I asked conversationally, leaning my elbows on my knees and training my eyes on him. 

He made a noncommittal mumble, running his finger slowly over the trackpad. 

I nodded, accepting his answer. If he didn’t want to talk, there was nothing I could do to make him, no matter how much I wished I could. “Okay.” I slid open my messenger bag, pulling out my tattered copy of The Great Gatsby from the big pocket.

I opened it to one of the dog eared pages, letting myself sink into its oft read paragraphs. I’d read it for the first time in a freshman English class and had been sucked in by the metaphors and the way the words slid together almost like poetry. It still had my messy pen scribbles asking silly rhetorical questions in the margins, which was evidently annotating and would ‘help me understand the novel.’

The hour passed quickly, with not a word spoken in the dim hospital room. It wasn’t the most groundbreaking first meeting I’d ever had, and I sincerely hoped I was up to the challenge of Harry Styles. I stood as the digital clock by his bedside clicked to nine, shoving my book back into my bag and closing the flap. 

“I’ll see you next week, Harry.” I said, giving him a small smile. I was about to turn and leave when he spoke, his lips barely moving as he mumbled the words.

“I like that book.”

I paused, slightly caught off guard. “Me too.”

He gave the tiniest nod. “ _So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight._ ”

I tried not to let my jaw drop the littlest bit as I watched him. He was quoting at me. This fucking kid who’d spoken no more than ten words was quoting Gatsby at me like it was the most normal thing in the world. “It’s beautiful.” I finally stammered out, and I wasn’t sure what exactly was beautiful but something was and it was clouding my brain.

“I know.” 

I stared at him for a long moment, waiting to see if he’d say anything else before turning slowly to leave, barely remembering to call a goodbye over my shoulder as I walked out.

January 24th - Day 8

I hadn’t spent all week with his words rolling around my head. That would be stupid. I hadn’t been looking forward to Tuesday and I certainly hadn’t counted down the hours until eight o’clock.

As I walked into the hospital room I felt the oddest mix of hope and a persistent nervousness. Harry glanced up at me as I walked in, but quickly returned his eyes to the screen in front of him, his expression unchanging.

“Hello.” I said, taking the seat by his bed without any prompting. The pilled blue fabric was rough, but the chair was comfortable and big enough that I could curl up in it, tucking my legs over to one side. 

He nodded once by way of greeting, appearing to have settled easily back into his policy of ignoring my very existence. I let out a sigh. I’d been expecting it, but I’d been hoping this would be easier.

“Do you think we could talk this time?” I asked, pushing a little in the hopes of maybe getting something back.

“What’s to talk about.” He replied, the words coming out more like a statement than a question.

“You could tell me about yourself.” I offered, refusing to believe that he was really this prickly to the core. I could get him to open up, I knew it.

“Someone didn’t do their homework.” He smirked, nodding at the file in my hands.

“I don’t like going in with preconceived first impressions. I’d prefer to hear it from you first.” I replied, trying not to let his attitude get to me. He had cancer for God’s sake, he was allowed to be a little insolent. 

He seemed satisfied with my answer. “Well let me fill you in. You’re here because I’m _depressed_.” He said the word with such malice, a sort of mocking annoyance, like he’d heard it a million times and hated it more with each repetition. “Because apparently, having a fucking brain tumor and six months left to live at seventeen is something I’m supposed to be happy about.”

“No one said you had to be happy about it.” I replied, my heart going out to the boy. Six months. Six months and his body would stop. “But it seems to me like you’ve given up.”

He looked at me, his stare deadpan. “I wonder why that is.”

I bit my lip. “It’s not how many years you have, it’s what you make of them.”

“You don’t know what it’s like, do you? To know that you only have about one hundred and eighty days left, to be able to count down the hours until you die? To know that no matter what you do, it’s still going to happen? I’m already dead, Louis. I was dead the day they diagnosed me.” He’d grown resigned, his huge green eyes filled with a tremendous sadness. “I’m going to lose myself, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

I shook my head slowly at his response, a bit overwhelmed by his sudden admission. I understood a lot about dying, not because I was but because I’d seen it again and again. There were a lot of people who had no idea what death was like, but I was never one of them. “Since I started doing this I’ve seen seven kids die. I can list their names, what they had, what they looked like, and the day they left through the back door.” I gave him a hard look, hoping I was getting through to him. The first layer of the shell always the hardest, breaking through to those who’d become jaded and tired years ago, but I was hopeful. “Believe me when I tell you that I know what it’s like.”

“What’s it like?” His mouth was set in an insubordinate line, his eyes daring me to respond.

I took a deep breath, and obliged. “It’s like watching someone slip through your fingers, no matter how hard you hold on. I don’t know what its like to die, Harry, but I know what it’s like to watch someone’s heart stop. And I know that I can’t save you but goddamnit if I don’t try.”

He cocked his head at me, his words low and rough. “It’s like falling.”

“What?” I asked, almost unsure whether or not he’d spoken at all.

“Dying. It’s like falling.” He smiled, though the expression held no joy. “And you can see the bottom and you know you’re going to hit it. Hard.”

My breath caught. “That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the fall.”

He shrugged, sinking back into his pillow. “I suppose so.”

I leaned forward in my chair. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

He shook his head, not meeting my eyes. “No.”

I stood up, accepting his answer. The worst thing I could do now was press him. We’d actually gotten somewhere this week and I was beginning to feel cautiously optimistic. Harry Styles wasn’t going to be the easiest to crack, but I knew I could do it. “Okay. See you next week, alright?”

“You’re leaving?” He asked, and I thought for a moment that maybe there was a trace of sadness in his voice, though that may have been wishful thinking.

“If you don’t want to talk anymore, I’m not going to bother you.” I smiled at him. “If you think of anything you want to talk about between now and then, you can ask one of the nurses for my number. Call anytime you need me.”

He nodded, not replying. It was only when I got to the doorway that his voice stopped me, clearer and more alert that it had been only a minute ago. “Have a nice night.”

“Have a nice night?” I asked, my voice teasing. “You sound like you’re bagging my groceries.”

He shrugged, his lethargic expression blossoming into a filthy kind of smirk. “Well I was checking you out.”

I slapped a hand to my mouth, unable to stop the giggle that escaped me. “That is completely inappropriate!”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.” His eyes seemed to sparkle and I got the tiniest glimpse of the boy he probably could have been, charming, cheeky, and helplessly adorable. I decided that if it was the last thing I ever did, I’d make him smile like that again. 

I smiled back at him. “Have a nice night, Harry.”

He nodded at me, biting his lip. “Have a nice night, Louis.”

January 27th - Day 11

I was woken up at 2:35 by Liam’s hands shaking my shoulders. I looked up at my flatmate through bleary eyes, barely able register what was happening as he shoved my buzzing phone into my hands. “Stop leaving your goddamn phone in my room.” He said, his words sleepy and annoyed.

“Sorry.” I mumbled, more amused by his irritation than anything. He’d be over it by the morning. I pressed the green call button, holding the speaker to my ear and smiling sleepily as Liam flipped me off, trudging back towards his room. “Hello?”

A voice, soft and low, greeted me. “I woke you, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay.” There was a reason I usually tried to keep my phone on my bedside table. Being a therapist wasn’t exactly a part time job, it was about being there no matter what for the people who needed you, and late night calls were just part of the job description. 

“I’m sorry. But you said-” He paused, and I heard the muffled sound of blankets rustling on the other line. “If I needed to talk...”

I sat up, running a hand through my disheveled hair, pulling up a pillow and setting it against my headboard. “That’s what I’m here for. What do you want to talk about?”

“I kindof just wanted to hear your voice.” 

A fuzzy kind of warmth grew in my chest, a smile curling across my lips. “Well here I am. What do you want to talk about?”

He made a soft noise with his lips that slowly slid into words. “Tell me about yourself.”

I didn’t usually talk about my life with my patients. It wasn’t a rule or anything, but they didn’t often ask and I didn’t tell. But Harry had asked and it was late and I suddenly wanted to tell him, to whisper my secrets through the wire and into his ear. “I was born on December 24th, 1991. I have four sisters and I grew up in Doncaster.”

Harry made a small _mhmm_ into the receiver and I closed my eyes, feeling suddenly that he was with me, or that I was with him, or that the essences of our bodies were intertwined somewhere our bodies could never visit.

“My mother’s name is Jay. I have a flat mate named Liam, who has a girlfriend named Danielle and gets angry when I leave my clothing around the apartment. Which I do. A lot.”

He snickered. 

“When I was twelve...” I paused, wondering if this was the best idea. I tried not to talk about that morning, when the doctor had come in with a stern expression and talked to my mother in hushed tones and she’d looked at me and just cried. In many ways it had been the most important day of my life, the day that turned me into me. “I was diagnosed with lymphoma.”

I let the words hang in the air for a moment, feeling my voice dry up to a whisper. “They caught it fairly early, but I spent a year heading in and out of the hospital. I lost all my hair. I got down to 98 pounds. But I don’t think I ever thought I was going to die. Even when I was bald and tired I never really gave up. I couldn’t, my body refused even when my mind had. I think maybe some part of me knew I had to hold on.”

“Is that why you do all this?” He asked slowly, and I wished I could see his face, to read the emotion there. 

“I guess so. I just want to help someone. I know I can’t save the world but if I could save someone, if only for a little while, then it would all be worth it.”

I stopped, out of words. He didn’t reply, the soft static of his breathing the only sound in the room. 

“I think maybe you’re saving me, Louis Tomlinson.” He murmured, and my heart seemed to skip into my throat, his words cocooning me in the darkness like a promise. 

I tried to say something, but my replies died in my throat. I clutched the receiver in my hand, managing a strangled kind of thankyou.

“You haven’t read my file yet, have you?” He asked, his voice conversational, as if he had no idea the effect his words had on me.

“Not yet.” I’d planned to go over it with him next Wednesday when I’d see him again.

“Read it.” I detected a sleepy note to his voice, like he was teetering on the brink of exhaustion. 

“Okay.” I wondered what I’d find in between those thick manilla pages, what secrets he was hiding in the head of his.

“Louis?” 

“Yes?”

“Can you sing?”

I paused, considering the question. I’d sung at a few talent shows in my day, but I didn’t consider myself a singer. “A little.”

“Sing me to sleep.” 

“What song?” I needed something soft, a lullaby to hum over the phone lines.

“Anything you want.” There was a smile in his words, warm and nearly tangible. There was something about him that calmed me, soothed my often frazzled brain and made everything okay.

I took a deep breath, starting to sing in a soft voice, not wanting to wake Liam. I was fairly sure I was off pitch and my voice slid uncomfortably up to the high notes, but I had a feeling Harry didn’t mind and so I didn’t either.

“ _When you try your best but you don’t succeed, when you get what you want, but not what you need._ ” I let my eyes drift closed, sliding back into the folds of my sheets. “ _When you feel so tired, but you can’t sleep, stuck in reverse._ ”

“ _When the tears come streaming down your face, when you lose something you can’t replace, when you love someone but it goes to waste, could it be worse?_ ”

I stared up at my ceiling, the notes treading the line between song and whisper. And when I spoke them they weren’t just words but promises. “ _Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones, and I will try to fix you._ ”

I continued the song, the lyrics descending into a soft humming as I lost track of the phrases and was left with nothing but the chorus and my promise. I wasn’t sure how long I lay like that, sending little pieces of myself down the phone line, but when I stopped he didn’t protest.

“Harry?” I asked softly, but there was no response from the other side, just the steady inhale and exhale of his breath. “Have a nice night.”

I thought about hanging up, but in the end I just rolled onto my side, set the phone on my pillow next to me and soaked in the rhythm of his breathing.

 _Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale_.

Sleep overtook me.

Chapter 2

January 29th - Day 13

I lay his file on the kitchen table, my feet tucked underneath me, a cup of coffee resting on a coaster near my hand. I was still in my pajamas, enjoying a lazy Sunday. I'd been so tired lately, and it was nice to have a day just to lie about and do nothing. On the other side of the tiny kitchen, Liam reached into the cabinet, nabbing a box of cereal from the upper shelf and pouring himself a bowl. “New patient?”

“Relatively.” I opened the folder, the cover page neat and organized, a washed out picture of Harry at the top, next to his name, age, and lines and lines of personal information. “Met him last Tuesday.”

Liam nodded absently, dousing his cereal in milk. “Our charming late night caller?”

I smiled, the memory of his voice still warm and fuzzy in my mind. “One and the same.” Liam came around to my side of the table, peering over my shoulder to get a look at his file. “Nice hair.”

I pulled the manilla envelope towards me. “Patient confidentiality, Liam.”

He stuck his tongue out at me. “I just wanted to see what he looked like.” 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I asked, shooting him what he called ‘the sassy gay queen Louis smirk,’ something that I probably shouldn’t have found as hilarious as I did.

“I do actually. Danielle wants to not watch a movie.” He smiled, shooting me a thumbs up over his cheerios. 

“Be safe.” I replied, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at the childish expression on his face. What Liam lacked in intelligence, he made up for by being completely adorable, something that only really became a problem when we had to file taxes. 

“You know I will, Lou.” He winked, tossing his bowl into the sink and heading for the door. “See you later!”

“Bye, Li!” I called, taking a long drink of coffee and flipping to the second page, the words Patient Overview printed at the top in stark black letters.

I scanned down the sheet, my eyes falling on two words that made my breath catch. _Attempted suicide._

The sentences seemed to blur. _Overdose. History of self harm. Admitted December 12th._ That was only two months ago. I dropped my forehead into my hand, his face swimming in my mind. 

_Oh Harry, what have you done?_

January 31st - Day 15

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t spent most of the next few days thinking about him. I knew I shouldn’t spend so much time fretting about this, but I couldn’t help it. Sometimes I really wished I didn’t have to feel like I did, always caring too damn much about things I had no control over. It was part of the reason I was so good at my job, because I was incapable of just walking away.

I could feel a sudden rush of relief as I walked into his hospital room. Harry was just as I had left him, with his blankets pulled up to his waist, computer in his lap, and eyes glued to the screen. “I’m beginning to think you’re attached to that thing.” I quipped from the doorway, giving him a friendly smile.

“I had it welded to my thighs a few months ago.” He replied, not looking up from whatever he was doing. 

I stared at him, wondering if this could possibly have been the same boy who’d called me so early that morning, whose breaths I’d fallen asleep to. It seemed that in the cool light of the hospital room his walls had gone straight back up. I could still see him, the broken boy with the soft voice, but he was hiding now. “Doing well then?”

“Bit headachey.” He replied, tapping out something on his laptop.

I moved from the doorway, marveling at how lived in Harry’s room looked. His computer charger was plugged into an extension cord by his bed which wound across the floor to an outlet, the long orange cable taped to the ground. In the tiny closetspace I could see jackets and pants hung up in a row, and a few pairs of shoes on the floor. His bedside table was a mess of mugs, pencils, and a few framed photographs of smiling teenagers that had gathered a brushing of dust on their upper edges. “Who are they?”

“Hmm?”

“The pictures.” I knelt, looking at their bright faces. Harry, holding one hand above his head, his arm slung around a broody looking boy. That same boy ruffling Harry’s hair while a dark haired girl with too much makeup on laughed at them. The three of them and an enthusiastic blonde standing on a beach, all pointing at something out of the frame.

“Friends.” He answered absently, before realizing that I was hoping for a more substantial answer. “Mum thought they’d make me feel better.”

“Do they?” I asked, standing back up and taking my normal place in the duct taped chair by his bed. 

“Not in the least.”

I was surprised at the bluntness of his answer. “Why not?”

He finally turned his green eyes on me. They were almost shocking, luminous and shining in the rather drab room, framed by dark lashes that sent shadows into the dark hollows under his eyes. He looked tired, tired like he hadn’t slept in weeks and like he’d simply felt too much. “Because I’m dying.” He said, like it should have been obvious to me.

“You really need to get out of this room.” I could sense the way he’d set roots down here, practically part of the room himself. He wasn’t just going to die, he was waiting for it. 

“Maybe tomorrow.” He replied, though I had a strong suspicion that his promise was simply to placate me into leaving him alone.

“Pile up enough tomorrows and you’ll end up with nothing but a bunch of empty yesterdays.” I said. “And besides, we can either spend this meeting with me asking you overly personal questions or we can go for a walk.”

He glared at me, realizing that in this particular situation I had the upper hand. “I hate you a little bit.” He said, sliding out of his bed on unsteady feet, his gray sweatpants bunched up around his calves. 

“Only a little bit?” I asked, standing and zipping up my jacket.

I caught another glimpse of him as he snuck a look at me, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Only a little bit.” He motioned towards the doorway. “Close the door. I’m changing.”

“You look fine, Princess.” I chided, smiling at his wrinkled tee shirt and sweats. “We’re only going for a walk.”

He looked at me seriously, pulling a new outfit out of the suitcase underneath his bed. “You don’t know how many days I’ve been wearing these pants.”

I cracked a smile. “I’m sure I don’t want to know.”

He made a swirling motion with his fingers. “Turn around. The clothes are coming off.”

For a moment I had the maddest urge to watch him, before my brain kicked in and I remembered that creeping on patients, even ones with lovely green eyes, was probably not something I should be doing. I turned, playing with the catch on my messenger bag as he thumped about behind me.

“How cute do I look, on a scale of 1 to 10?” He asked when he’d finished, setting his hands on his waist and jutting a hip out.

“I’d say about a seven. Maybe an eight.” I answered with a grin that was just the littlest bit impish. He was wearing a black Ramones tee shirt that hung loosely on the still muscular curves of his shoulders and a pair of tight blue jeans that hugged the long line of his legs. Even an eight was a gross understatement. He looked like a model for some kind of expensive cologne, even with his dark circles and mussed hair. I realized then that there was something infinitely beautiful in broken things.

“Liar. I’m most definitely a 10. Maybe a 9.8, just so we can leave some room for improvement.” He turned a bit to check out his ass, then grabbed a beanie from his bedside table and wedged it onto his curls. I liked the way he moved, in jerky bops and excited little twists marked by a calculated sort of slowness that reminded me of the way he talked. 

“Getting a little cheeky, aren’t we?” I teased, smiling over at him as he pulled his coat on and made for the door.

“It’s part of my charm.” He hadn’t lost his earlier insolence, but there was a warmth in him that hadn’t been there before. It made me think that maybe, just maybe, Harry wouldn’t be so hard to crack after all.

Smuggling him out of the hospital turned out to be a pretty easy task. It didn’t take more than a smile and a wink at the pretty receptionist to replace her suspicious glare with a blush.

“Where are we going?” He asked as we made it out onto the sidewalk, his eyes climbing the buildings like he was seeing them for the first time. Above us, the sky hung low and heavy with premonitions of snow and I worried briefly about my trip home. Hopefully we’d avoid any major snowstorms until I was safely back in my apartment. 

“That depends. Do you like cupcakes?” I asked, leading the way down the busy sidewalk, packed with commuters who barely glanced our way.

“You aren’t seriously asking me that, are you?”

I let out a soft laugh, slipping my hands into the fleece lined pockets of my jacket as a chilly wind whipped its way down the street. “Just making sure.”

He just smiled, a tiny upward tilt of his lips that warmed me up in a way that wasn’t entirely thermal. He’d tucked his chin down into the collar of his jacket, his hands shoved deep in his pockets like if he nestled up inside himself he could physically avoid the cold. His face was pink, breath wreathing his features like smoke, swirling up into his hair and then dissolving into the breeze. “I forgot what winter smelled like.” He said quietly, lifting his head and taking a lungful of air.

“You really don’t get out much, do you?” I asked as we turned the corner, fighting the stab of sadness I’d felt at his words. This was going to be his last winter, I realized with a start, the last time he’d walk through January 17th and stare up at a cloudy sky.

“No.” He answered simply, curling back in on himself.

We walked in silence for a block or two. I’d run out of things to say and he was evidently content to share the quiet. 

I grabbed his arm a minute or two later, pointing up at the brightly colored sign. “We’re here.” I pushed open the door, stepping into the small bakeshop. It was one of my favorites, a tiny hole in the wall with delicious coffee, great pastries, and ever better cupcakes. A gush of warm air rushed over us, sweeping off the winter chill.

Harry’s eyes widened at the wall of display cases, each filled to the brim with meticulously decorated delicacies. I spotted Danielle at the counter, her light blue sleeves rolled to her elbows and a light dusting of flour on her caramel skin. She waved when she saw me, her face lighting up. “Hey Louis!

“Hey Dani.” I headed to the counter, Harry tagging close behind me. “Harry, this is Danielle. Danielle, Harry.”

He treated her to a timid wave, looking back over at me. “Liam’s Danielle?”

I nodded, trying not to be impressed that he’d been paying that much attention. “The same.”

Danielle smiled widely. “You told him about me?”

“Only nice things.” I assured her, unzipping my coat as the warmth of the shop began to seep into my bones. “So what’s fresh?”

She peered back into the kitchen, an open area just behind the counter where two other girls were frosting a rather elaborate cake. “Well I did just finish some chocolate cupcakes. If I’d eaten one, which I certainly didn’t, I’d tell you they were delicious.”

I looked over at Harry, who gave me a nod.

“That sounds great.”

She rang us up. “Anything to drink?”

“Coffee. The usual way.” Danielle was the only person in the world who I trusted to make my coffee, one of the reasons I was seriously hoping for her and Liam to get married. The other reason of course being that they were sickeningly adorable, but that almost went without saying.

“Hot chocolate, please.” Harry added from behind me, and I was struck once again by the low, husky quality of his voice, how it floated just below the lull of conversation.

She gave him a grin, one she quickly redirected towards me as she rang us up.

“You go grab a seat, I’ll be right there.” Harry nodded, moving towards a small table by the picture window near the front of the shop.

Danielle pounced as soon as he was out of earshot. “Oh my god Louis, he’s so cute. Your children will be the cutest things ever, oh my god.”

I fixed her with a look. “1. That’s a medical impossibility, and 2. we’re not dating. He’s a patient.”

Her face fell for a moment, then picked back up. “But you like him.”

“Well of course I like him, he’s a patient.” I replied, trying to keep my voice down as she prepared the drinks. “We aren’t together, Danielle.”

“So he’s straight?” She asked, topping off the hot chocolate and adding a dollop of whipped cream.

I thought of his earlier comment, something about checking me out. “Not exactly.”

She nearly spilled the cocoa as she set it in front of me, excitement filling her very movements. “Louis you need to date this boy. You need to. He’s broody and cute and- oh my god he’s taken his hat off and those are curls, Louis. _Curls._ ”

I flicked my eyes back over to Harry, who was busy being immersed in the knit of his gray beanie, his gaze solemn. She was right, he was cute, very, incredibly unfairly cute. He was also someone I was supposed to help through their time of need, not have a crush on. It would be completely inappropriate. “It wouldn’t be professional.”

She pouted, setting my coffee down next to his drink and putting two pristine pink-frosted cupcakes on small china plates. “YOLO, Honey.”

I gave her a stern look. “Please tell me you didn’t just use YOLO at me unironically.”

“I did.” She paused, her smile teasing. “YOLO.”

I rolled my eyes, picking up our tray and walking towards Harry, careful not to spill. “We are no longer friends, Danielle. No longer friends.”

“I love you too, Boo Bear!” She called back, the end of her yell dissolving into giggles. 

I sat down in the chair across from Harry with a roll of my eyes. He reached for his cup, peering over at me from the swirl of whipped cream. “Boo Bear?” He asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair.

I cringed though, if I was honest, the nickname did amuse me. “Liam heard my mum call me that once. Still haven’t managed to live it down.”

He took a tentative sip, getting a small line of foam on his upper lip. “It’s cute.”

 _You’re cute._

I froze as I processed the thought that had jumped into my mind. Oh god. This was all Danielle’s fault. I was actually going to kill her. 

He was looking at me quizzically. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, pushing my mind back to safer topics. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Harry scraped a bit of frosting off the top of his cupcake with a forefinger, licking it off. He cocked his head, studying me. “Louis?”

“Yes?”

“You read my file, didn’t you.” I couldn’t quite read his expression. It wasn’t blank, guarded maybe, a little guilty? And sad. Definitely sad.

“You did tell me to.” I said, suddenly feeling as if I’d done something I shouldn’t have, which was silly considering that it was kindof my job.

“It’s probably best that you know.” He sighed, and I noticed the way he rested his left arm on the table underside down like it was a habit. I reached out, resting my forefinger and thumb on his wrist, silently asking his permission.

He merely held my gaze, holding perfectly still. I slowly turned his arm over in my hand, the pale skin of his forearm marred by a quick pink scars. There were six, neat and in a row, and so careful they made my stomach turn. I ran my fingers down his skin, the tiny ridges sharp against the sensitive pads of my fingertips. I felt him shiver at the touch and for a moment I wondered if I’d gone too far, but he didn’t move away, merely letting his eyes flutter shut and clenching his hand into a fist.

“Why did you do it?” I asked softly, feeling suddenly that sometime between arriving and sitting down we’d fallen into our own little world.

“Because I was tired of not feeling. There was a long time where I felt so much, so terrified and sad and angry and then it-” He let out a long breath. “I stopped feeling anything. And I couldn’t deal with that.”

“Did it help?” I asked, knowing the answer before he said it.

“No.” 

“But you thought that killing yourself would?” I asked, going just a little farther, unwilling to give up when we were finally getting somewhere.

“No.” He paused, opening his eyes and letting them flicker down to the table. He slid his arm out of my grip, tucking it into himself like he didn’t want to see the scars anymore. 

“Then why did you do it?” I’d dealt with suicide in it’s many awful forms before, and no one really seemed to fit neatly into the stereotypical box of ‘it all just became too much.’ I had a feeling Harry Styles was no exception.

He seemed to deliberate over the question for a long moment, drawing the mug of cocoa up to his mouth and taking a long sip before answering. “My life ended a year ago. It was only a matter of catching my body up.”

“Your life didn’t end a year ago, it ended the day you gave up. You aren’t dead, you have six months to live. You can’t spend all of them dying.” I said, seized with the sudden urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, to show him what he was missing while he waited to slip into a fate he’d chosen months ago. 

“But I am dying.” He replied, tapping his temple. 

“So am I!” I hissed back.

“But that’s different.” He replied, his face passive, like he was hiding somewhere inside his mind, somewhere my words couldn’t reach him.

“No it’s not! I could walk out of this shop and get run over by a goddamn bus. I could slip on the ice outside and crack my skull in two. It doesn’t mean I’m going to waste my life just because one day my time is going to run out. So you know when you’re going to die, congratulations, now you have a deadline. A deadline to do everything you wanted to do before you bite it. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you? You can’t think about the dying, only the living, or it’ll end up killing you.” My voice had gained a kind of urgency, my entire body aching with the need to get him to understand. 

“But I can’t.” He said, softly and filled with such melancholy that for a moment I wondered if he really was broken beyond repair. “I’m falling Louis, I’ve been falling for so long and I’m not sure I know how to stop anymore.”

“You know the only difference between falling and flying is how you land.” I said, feeling as if I was quoting something but unable to remember what it was. “I guess you could say my job is to be your parachute.” I shrugged, embarrassed for a reason I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Okay.” He said, staring down at his mug, his hands wrapped around the porcelain. “I’m sorry.”

I picked up my cupcake and started to peel back the silver wrapping, realizing that I’d completely forgotten about it in the midst of our discussion. “About what?”

“I’m sorry I’m not easy to fix.” 

I sucked in a quick breath, his words catching me off guard. “Don’t be sorry. None of this is your fault.”

He nodded, offering me a smile that was trying really really hard to be a smile but just ended up making me want to jump across the table and hug him. “Thankyou.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I smiled back, taking a bite of my cupcake, a small exclamation of surprise escaping me. “Strawberry frosting. I thought it was just pink.”

Harry raised his cupcake to his lips, liking the icing off the top. “It’s quite good.”

“Oh god, you’re one of those people aren’t you?”

He looked momentarily wounded, an expression made a little bit adorable by the smear of pink frosting on the tip of his nose. “One of what people?”

I took a large bite and mumbled the rest of the answer through a mouthful of cake. “One of those people who licks the frosting off first.”

He stuck his tongue out at me, earlier sadness forgotten. He was really good at that, the whole pretending that everything was okay, like he’d been doing it for a very long time. “I like frosting.”

“So do I.” I replied, taking a sip of coffee. “I like it on my cupcake like it’s supposed to be.”

“And who made you king of cupcake eating?” He asked, now peeling back the wrapper and starting in on the cake.

I snapped my fingers at him. “Me. Just now.”

He snickered, a quick that turned into genuine laughter, bubbling out of him before he could stop it. He seemed almost startled by the sound, like he’d forgotten that he could make it. “I don’t think I-” He put a hand to his lips. “Well fuck.”

“What?” I asked, though I already knew. I just wanted to hear him say it.

“I didn’t think I remembered how to do that.” His eyes were wide, filled with a kind of awe and disbelief that made my head spin. “Thankyou.”

I opened my mouth to reply, words escaping me. There was something about him, the way he looked at me, how his voice lilted that seemed to so often leave me speechless. I didn’t know what it was, but he was special in a way I’d never encountered before. 

His eyes flickered to the window, growing wide. “Louis it’s snowing.”

I looked through the glass, my gaze falling on the thick white flakes swirling in the winter air, resting in the gutters and on the sidewalk like the smallest brushing of sugar. “It’s lovely.”

“Let’s walk through it.” He said, a sort of awed smile settling on his face. It looked so at home there, his expression open and childish and like he didn’t have a care in the world. In that moment, the snow swirling in the crisp night, I think he’d forgotten he was falling.

I set my half finished coffee on the table, standing and giving my coat a zip. “Okay.”

He stood, popping the last bit of his cupcake into his mouth and heading for the door, barely pausing to wait for me before rushing outside. It was cold, but in the orange glow of buildings and streetlights I felt oddly warm, like I was carrying some kind of fire inside of me that rushed through my veins and heated my bones.

We started walking back towards the hospital, soaking in the snowy wonderland around us. 

“I didn’t used to like winter.” He said, nearly colliding with a businessman as he was distracted by the drifting snowflakes. “But it’s kindof beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Everything’s beautiful if you know how to look at it.” I replied, earning myself an amused noise from Harry.

“You’re so damn philosophical.” He smiled, stopping at the crosswalk and staring up at the sky, sticking his tongue out to catch a few flakes.

“Cryptic one liners are my speciality.” I quipped, watching him as we waited for the light to change. 

He pulled his tongue back in long enough to shoot me a reply. “You should meet my friend Zayn. You could have a deep-quotes battle.”

“I’d win.” I replied, trying to keep away the dopey smile that was desperately close to breaking across my face. 

“Don’t be so sure.” He took a slow turn, letting his arms rise up away from his body. I just watched him spin, closing his eyes and turning like if he tried hard enough he could float away.

I watched as his feet slipped from under him and he careened into my arms, his weight folding into my chest. He looked up at me dizzily, his green eyes holding mine the warm light, snowflakes melting on his porcelain skin.

“I’ve got you.” I reassured him, tightening my grip around his waist. 

He just smiled, looking completely at peace. “I know.”

I realized then that Harry was wrong; he wasn’t hard to fix, he just needed someone who would.

Chapter 3

February 7th - Day 22

The chair with the rough blue fabric and the duct tape patch on the top was starting to feel familiar, slowly becoming not the chair by Harry’s bed but my chair. Harry was sitting in his signature position, laptop on his knees, blankets wrapped around him. He’d given me a marginally friendly greeting when I’d entered, a hello that, while not cheerful, had a bit of life to it.

“Any plans for today?” I asked, setting my bag in my lap and moving so I was facing him.

He shrugged. “Nothing in particular.”

“We could go out again.” I offered, wondering if he’d been looking forward to our meeting as much as I had. The week had seemed to drag and I’d found myself counting down the days until I could see him again. I hadn’t meant for this to happen, but he was slowly worming his way into my consciousness. I wanted to know him, to know his insides and outsides and I wanted to fix him, more than I’d ever wanted anything in the world.

He shrugged, sliding his laptop off his thighs and crawling deeper into his covers until he was laying on his side, wide green eyes trained on me. He curled his hands into the big blue duvet, bringing it up over his head like a hood. “I don’t want to go anywhere today.” He looked so vulnerable all curled up there, nose just barely peeking out of the folds, that I couldn’t bring myself to pressure him into doing anything. Besides, I could empathize with his desires as I wasn’t having the best day myself. One of my patients, a younger girl with rhabsomyosarcoma, a kind of muscle cancer, was getting worse, and I wasn’t sure she’d make it through the month. Plus, I wasn’t feeling all that stellar myself, my throat all swollen like I was coming down with a cold, my joints just the littlest bit achy. Suddenly, hiding under a duvet cover didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“Have you ever made a blanket fort?” I asked slowly, sticking my hands in the pocket of my hoodie, relishing in the feel of the warm fleece.

He nodded, a flicker of nostalgia in his eyes. “Cher and I used to make them in my living room when we were younger.”

“Do you want to make one now?” 

He seemed to consider the suggestion for a moment before nodding, slipping out of his covers and standing in front of me, looking down at my upturned face with just a hint of a smile. “Okay.”

I got up, sliding my messenger bag off my shoulder and onto the chair, reaching for the blanket. “I think if we tuck it at the foot of the bed we can make a kind of tent, right?”

He gave me a businesslike nod. “You do that, I’ll get pillows.”

I pulled the the thick blue blanket back and over the bottom of the bed, noticing how the entire room seemed to have a smell just a little bit different from the rest of the hospital. I couldn’t quite pinpoint it, it was just an intangible aura that spoke of warmth and Harry.

I stretched the blanket taunt, securing it by placing the leg of my chair over one corner and the leg of the table on the other, giving us a little right triangle of a tent. Harry tossed some pillows into the cave, arranging them so the tile floor was fully covered, and then ripped his sheets off, draping the star printed cotton over the exposed sides until we were completely enclosed in the dimly lit space.

It was nice in the fort, the light from the hall and Harry’s small lamp filtering in blue, shadows drifting in the small space. It was only after we settled in, me propped against his bed, he on his back, feet resting near my head, that Harry spoke, softly as to not break the silence that had descended over us like smoke. “Louis, are you okay?”

“I’m here to talk about your problems, not mine.” I said, avoiding his question as I tried not to let out the sigh that risen up in my chest, attempting to give him a smile. I’d been holding it together just fine all day, but there was something about this room, the way his eyes seemed to spear me through, that made it impossible to pretend anymore.

“It’s okay to not be okay, you know.” He said, staring up at the dark blue fabric. “And you’re not.”

I let out the sigh. “I know.” 

“It’s easier in here though.” He said, a small smile working its way across his face. He did that a lot, his grins never quite reaching their full capacity as they curled lazily across his mouth. I wished he would just laugh again, for his dimples to crease his cheeks like in those pictures when he was tanned and happy and not sick.

“It is.” And suddenly I wanted to cry for reasons I couldn’t quite explain, because it wasn’t fair was it? It wasn’t fair that his body was betraying him, because boys with beautiful green eyes and soft voices and curly hair shouldn’t have to die in six months.

“Louis?” He was looking at me now, concern furrowing his brow.

“I’m fine.” I said, though I don’t think I was all that convincing. I felt his fingers wrap around mine and then I was clutching his hand like it was a lifeline, and I had the faint feeling that maybe it was.

After a long moment, I loosened my grip, regaining control over myself. I felt a little stupid, l was supposed to keep my own personal problems out of these meetings wasn’t I? And now here I was having an emotional meltdown in a blanket fort with a kid I’d known for less than a month. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was.”

He turned his head so our eyes met, blue against green, communicating an unspoken agreement. _It’s okay, I’ve got you._

“You know what’s in a week?” He asked, strategically changing the subject but not dropping my hand. I thought about letting go, but found I really didn’t want to.

“What?”

“Valentine’s Day.” 

“And who might your Valentine be Mr. Styles?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light. 

“Ice cream is my valentine.” He replied, his eyes sparkling ever so slightly. 

“Oh really now?” I asked, letting the weight sink off my chest as I leaned my head back against the bed and focused on the feeling of his fingers in mine and the soft rise and fall of my chest.

“Really. We’ve discussed it, the feelings are mutual.” 

“I’m sure your children will be adorable.” I replied, wishing everything could be as easy as sitting here with him. 

“Not to mention delicious.” He responded, earning a small laugh from me, that if I was being honest was really more of a giggle.

We lapsed into comfortable silence, the sound of the hospital muted and quiet through the cotton walls. The soft conversations of doctors and the beeping of machines turned to a dull murmur that never really seemed to touch us as we floated in our little cocoon of comfort. It wasn’t perfect, but it was okay, and that was all I could really ask for at this point.

“Do you know what’s funny?” He asked some minutes later, his voice soft, like he wasn’t really talking to me but speaking his thoughts out loud. “This time last year we thought they were migraines.”

I took a long time to answer, trying to come up with the right words. “That doesn’t strike me as funny at all.”

He let out a small sigh of laughter, that was sad more than anything else. “No, but it sounds better than ‘you know what sucks,’ doesn’t it?”

“I guess it does.” I replied, sliding down so I was laying down next to him, my knees brushing the underside of the blanket. I was acutely aware of the way his hands shifted against mine as I moved, his long fingers and large palms dwarfing my hands in their warm grip. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was aware of my conscience having a fit over my lack of doctor-patient etiquette, but I really couldn’t make myself give a shit. 

“You were diagnosed about a year ago, weren’t you?” He’d actually gotten pretty lucky, brain cancer was nigh impossible to diagnose early. My thoughts drifted to the scars on his wrist and I wondered if his quick diagnosis was really a blessing at all.

“The day after Valentine’s Day.” He said, a note of wistfulness in his voice. “Its so strange thinking that was the last night I didn’t know.”

I found myself wondering what he’d done in his last hours of freedom. Who he’d been with, what he’d said. “What was your last day like?” I asked, for extremely important and entirely professional reasons.

“Happy.” The word was barely more than a breath. “I was dating Zayn at the time, though we weren’t together long after that night.”

“Couldn’t deal with cancer?” I asked, knowing all too well how people got when the disease came into play. It made people awkward and distant and so very very careful, like cancer turned you into glass. 

“I ended it.” He replied simply. “I’d just end up hurting him in the end. And he’s gone and turned poor Niall gay now, so I guess that’s turned out for the best.”

I grinned despite myself. “Poor Niall.” There was something truly exceptional in the way Harry could make me smile by talking about how he’d broken up with his boyfriend because he’d gotten cancer. It was just how he said things, the way he drawled his words in his low gravelly voice, like life was some big joke the universe had let him in on.

“Somehow I don’t think Niall’s all that upset about the whole thing.” He replied, a hint of amusement in his words.

“But what about you?” I asked, wondering when I’d started to care so much about him. 

“I don’t date.” He replied, his tone serious again.

“Why?” _Christ, did I actually sound disappointed?_

“It wouldn’t be fair. I don’t have enough to give, not enough time...” He trailed off, as if he’d somehow lost himself between the beginning and the end of the sentence. 

“So you won’t even try to love someone because you know you’re going to hurt them in the end?” I asked, wishing I couldn’t see the logic in that statement. I shouldn’t be this emotionally invested, not in someone with so little time.

“I’ve spent the last year making sure I have no one left to hurt.” He sounded so lonely then, so desperately lonely that I squeezed his hand tightly in mine, trying to send him some kind of comfort through our touch.

“You can’t save anyone by pushing them away. People care, you have to let them.”

“Well they don’t have to care about me.”

My breath caught, the words I wanted to say hovered on my lips. 

_I have to._

But somehow I was fairly sure that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, so I whispered the only other thing I could think of. “Okay.” And it really wasn’t, because Harry was falling and somehow I’d ended up slipping with him. I just wanted to take all of his pain and let him live again, because I wasn’t just falling, I was falling for him and I wasn’t sure I knew how to stop.

“Do you still have Gatsby in your bag?” He asked after a long moment, jolting me from my reverie.

“I think I took it out.” I replied, my voice trembling slightly for a reason I couldn’t quite pinpoint. Pull yourself together, Tomlinson.

“Any other books?”

“Maybe.” I reached under Harry’s legs and tugged my bag onto my chest, rifling through the contents and finding a blue volume that Danielle had thrust into my hands a few days ago, declaring it ‘absolute perfection’ and a ‘roller coaster of feels.’ I wasn’t precisely sure what a roller coaster of feels was, but she’d assured me it was a good thing. I held it up to him. “It’s called The Fault In Our Stars.”

I sat back up, letting our hands slip apart as I cracked it open to read the inside jacket. 

“What’s it about?”

“A girl. Cancer.” I replied, flipping through the first couple of pages, past a dedication and some quotation about tulips.

He made a face. “Don’t you get enough of that here?”

“Evidently, Danielle thinks not.” I skimmed down the first page, letting my eyes soak in the rows of neatly printed letters. “I don’t know, it doesn’t seem too bad.”

“Read it to me.” He said, crawling over to where I sat and resting against the bedframe, his legs extended out in front of him, bare feet crossed at the ankles.

“Now?”

“Did you have other plans?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Not particularly.” I grabbed a pillow from the far side of the fort, tucking it behind me and settling in. Harry was pressed against my side, head hovered over my shoulder like he wanted to rest it there but wasn’t sure if he could and was too afraid to ask for permission. I smiled, enjoying the soft tickle of his curls against my shoulder as I started in, the dim blue light just enough to read by.

“Late in the winter of my seventeenth year, my mother decided I was depressed, presumably because I rarely left the house, spent a lot of time in my bed, read the same book over and over, ate infrequently, and devoted quite a bit of my abundant free time to thinking about death.”

“I like her.” Harry interrupted softly when I paused for breath.

I gave him a look of feigned annoyance that only made a small smile alight on his face. “I can’t read if you’re going to interrupt me.”

He turned, ducking his nose into my shoulder and mumbling his reply into the cotton of my tee shirt. “Sorry.”

I tried to ignore the way his breath felt on my skin. “No you aren’t.”

He looked up at me, a lopsided smirk falling onto his face. I liked that expression, it was sly, a little bit filthy, and seemed to be filled with secrets just bursting to be told. “No, I’m really not.”

I looked pointedly back at the book, starting again with authority. He was quiet after that, resting his head on my shoulder, tentatively at first and then with more assurance.

I thought about what he’d said as I read, about how he’d spent the last year making sure he’d have no one left to hurt. I wasn’t sure he knew yet, but as I sat in the semi-darkness I was sure that he was going to end up hurting someone.  
When he died, he was going to take a piece of me with him.


	2. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said Friday, but I just got back to school and time got away from me. Sorry! But it's up now, and don't worry, I'm not going to abandon this one, though the updates might not be right on time. (:  
> (Also Okay is essentially TFiOS slang for I care about you. Kindof. It's hard to explain, but just know that it's a bit important. Also, Hazel is the main character's name. Also, read the book, it's great! :)

February 14th - Day 29

 

There’s a difference between knowing and understanding. I knew that Harry was dying, I knew he only had so long left to live and that every moment drew him just a little bit farther away from me, but I didn’t really understand until that evening. 

His room, normally lit by the lamp he had clipped to his headboard, was dark, the only light streaming in from the doorway. Through the opening in his half drawn curtains I could see the outline of his lanky frame draped in blue blanket, soft and indistinct in the dim light. 

As I stepped cautiously through the door, a nurse I vaguely recognized ducked out from behind the curtain, a smile breaking across her face as she spotted me. 

“Nice to see you, Mr. Tomlinson.” She whispered, scribbling a quick something on her clipboard and resting it on her hip, pointing over at Harry. “He’s had a headache all morning, pretty bad one from the looks of it, so I don’t know if he’ll want company.”

She stepped back over to where he lay, her voice taking on a soothing tone. “Harry, you have a visitor, is that okay?”

There was a long beat of silence before he let out a _yes_ so quiet it was barely audible. She gave me a nod, moving to leave. “Just try and be quiet. He’s very sensitive to light and noise. And make sure to close the curtain behind you.”

I let her pass me, stepping into the small alcove beside his bed and tugging the curtain shut as I set my messenger bag carefully on the floor. As my eyes began to adjust, the planes and contours of his face came into focus, features covered in a shifting cocoon of shadows. In the half darkness he looked like some kind of angel, and I wondered fleetingly if maybe he was too lovely for this world.

Looking at him was strange. He tangled me up on the inside, my organs rearranging themselves at the sight of him, leaving me jumbled but somehow at peace, like maybe they’d been wrong before. I slid my jacket off and focused my eyes on the floor, feeling embarrassed for a reason I couldn’t pinpoint. I’d missed him this past week, missed him during my other appointments, during cheerful dinners with Liam, and the nights Danielle had dragged us out clubbing. It was safe to say I always missed him a little, that he’d somehow crept into my bones.

I looked around for my chair, finding that since the last time I’d been here it had gotten up and walked away. 

I hung my jacket on the bedpost and moved to sit on the floor, unwilling to let him out of my sight, but knowing that I couldn’t stand at his bedside the whole hour. He’d hung a hand off the side of the bed, his long fingers curling and uncurling slowly like he was looking for something to hold on to. Before I could think too hard about what I was doing, I reached up, letting my fingers wrap in his. He tensed briefly at the contact, our hands fumbling against each other before intertwining, his grip strong and desperate.

“Lou.” He breathed, as if the word caused him physical pain.

“Harry you don’t have to talk, it’s okay.” I replied, scooting up onto my hands and knees. 

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, then finally, two words. “Come up.” 

I stood slowly, letting his fingers slip from mine as I walked around the bed, sitting down on the mattress as carefully as I could. He opened his eyes, blinking a few time before they found mine, wide and glassy and full of pain. I wondered if it was from the headache, or something else entirely. I reached out almost involuntarily, my hand finding his cheek, stroking his pale skin. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He hummed softly in response, taking my free wrist and using it to guide me into a horizontal position. I lay on my side, the silhouette of his face blurring in the low light. I shouldn’t be doing this, I knew I shouldn’t, but everything about him made my body thrum with something that could only be described as a great irreplaceable calm.

I lay a hand over his, letting myself sink into the tenderness of the moment, like somehow with the touch of our skin I could take his pain away. I let myself sink into the mattress, my eyelids growing heavy. I was fairly sure I could fall asleep here and never wake up, just Harry and me in the blue darkness. 

Being with him was like reading a book that someone’s already spoiled for you. I knew how this would turn out, with the life draining from his body as the tumor consumed him, but I flipped the pages anyway in the vain hope that maybe it would end differently. 

So I lay with him and savored the life inside the numbered pages. I closed my eyes, letting our fingers slot together. Together, we held on through the dark.

 

xx

 

I woke up in layers. 

I wasn’t really conscious, more vaguely aware of pale blue light and velvety blankets and a strong aura of contentment. There were no thoughts, just calm and the soft rustling of unimportant things.

I was in a bed. It wasn’t my bed, but somehow that was alright. There was a hand in mine, a warm lovely hand that it was very important I hold on to. My skin was just a bit damp, the room just the smallest bit too warm. The waistband of my jeans was pressed into the skin of my hipbone, the cuffs of my shirt crawling up my biceps. _Last night’s clothes..._

I stirred, a quiet, even snoring pulling me just a little farther from sleep. I could smell the faint antiseptic smell of the hospital mingling with something comforting. _Harry._ My eyes flew open, wondering when it had become morning. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep here, only lay with him for the hour, but as I gazed at his sleeping form I couldn’t really bring myself to regret it.

Sunlight fell through the gap between the curtain and the ceiling, washing him in pale golden hues. We were nearly nose to nose, on our sides so our bodies faced each other. He looked so fragile, like the smallest contact would break him. I drew our hands apart with utmost care, hovering my fingers over his cheek, wanting to touch him, but filled with some irrational fear that maybe he’d crumble under my fingertips.

I thought about the look in his eyes when he first saw me. I remembered thinking he looked defeated, like he was empty inside. Now, watching him sleep beside me I wondered if maybe worn out was a more apt description. For all his talk of dying and giving up he’d soldiered on this far, and in the foggy illogic of morning I wondered if somehow he’d just been waiting for me find him, to pick up his broken pieces and fix him in the only way I knew how.

I let my fingers brush over his curls, warm and silky from the sunbeams. He barely looked real, and I marveled over him, my eyes finding his barely parted lips and the hollow of his neck and the way his chest rose and fell as he breathed. 

A small chiming noise reached my ears, directing my attention to the bag I’d abandoned on the floor. I lingered for a long moment before sliding off the bed and retrieving my phone, three messages lighting up the screen.

 

9:32 Liam 

Where r u?  
9:33 Liam  
\- Did u evne get home last nite?  
10:01 Liam

-If u dont call me in 5 min im assumeing ur ded.

 

I couldn’t resist a smile at his texts, quickly firing off a ‘not dead, no worries, babe.’ to assure him of my continued presence in the land of the living. I pulled on my jacket, slipping my bag over my neck and sneaking one last look at Harry.

I knew I had to leave, especially if I was going to get a shower in before my appointment at one, but I couldn’t seem to make my legs work right, finding myself with my knees pressed to the side of his bed.

“Bye Harry.” I whispered to no one in particular. “See you next week.”

I leaned down slowly, not entirely sure what I was doing until my lips found his temple and I was pressing a soft kiss to the skin there. He barely stirred at the pressure, and I straightened, feeling a little bit light headed. 

“Have a nice day.” 

It wasn’t until I was on the train home, a ridiculous smile permanently fixed onto my face that a thought occurred to me. 

Maybe I wasn’t just fixing Harry, maybe he was saving me.

Chapter 5

February 16th - Day 31

I sat on the couch in the loosest definition of the verb, my feet propped up on the top of the cushions, head hanging off the side, and phone in hand. Danielle was perched next to me, absorbed in a particularly riveting episode of Dance Moms as Liam threw together some lunch in the kitchen. Dani had forced me to stay home, after noticing my cough and practically forcing a thermometer down my throat to find I had a fever. I hated canceling appointments, but maybe she was right. I’d been fighting this sickness for weeks, and maybe a day off was what I needed. 

I turned my phone over in my fingers, debating whether or not it was too soon to text Harry. Since our last session had been interrupted by the inconvenient reality of his illness, I was hoping we could somehow meet up again before our next session to make up for lost time.

It wasn’t just that I wanted to see him again. That would be stupid.

I opened up a new message, holding my phone about two inches from my face and beginning to type.

_You want to meet up sometime before our next meeting?_

I stared at the letters, deleting them with a sigh. I sound like a fucking creep. 

_Hello, would you be open to having another meeting since_

Well that doesn’t sound awkward or forced at all, great job Tomlinson.

Danielle poked me with her toe, leaning over to try and get a look at my screen. “Who’re you texting?”

I hugged my phone to my chest, trying not to look guilty and, judging by the look on her face, failing miserably. “No one.”

“Is it a guy?” She asked, her eyes widening in excitement as I silently cursed commercial breaks.

“It’s none of your business.” I replied, projecting an aura of aloofness as best I could.

She leaned in closer, television completely forgotten. “Is it your boyfriend, that curly haired boy?”

Liam appeared in the doorway with a bowl of spaghetti. “What boyfriend?”

Danielle whirled. “The one he came into the bakery with last week, who he’s trying to hide from us!”

I grabbed a pillow and pressed it into my face, letting out a groan. “He’s a patient, Danielle! A patient!”

She gave my pillow a rather forceful pat. “A patient that you need to date. He is the definition of awkward hot, and if you do not get on that, I will.”

“Dani, he’s gay and you have a boyfriend who is standing in this room.” I replied, both amused and a little bit distressed at her continued prodding.

“It seemed like a good threat at the time.” She replied, plunking her feet down on my chest. “Hey Liam, fancy bringing me in some pasta?”

I hesitantly pulled the pillow from my eyes, sensing that while she was nowhere near finished with this topic, I was off the hook, at least for now. She was still giving me pointed looks, but her eyes did nothing more than twinkle with glee as I brought my phone back up to my face and took a third attempt at texting Harry.

 _So we didn’t really get to talk last thursday, care to reschedule?_

I examined it for a moment, then tacked a smiley face onto the end, sending it before I could think myself out of it.

He texted back nearly a minute later, which I suppose wasn’t all that surprising considering he spent most of him time with his computer in his Harry cocoon.

12:32 Harry

Alright.  
12:32 Harry

Visit whenever you like. I don’t exactly stray very far.  
I smiled, imagining the expression on his face as he’d typed it, the sarcastic lilt that would have taken to his voice if he’d spoken the words. Accepting, almost self-deprecating, and a little bit tired.

12:33 Louis

Tomorrow at 4?  
12:33 Harry

I await the pleasure of your company with baited breath.  
I was quickly finding texting him to be a little bit impossible, as the urge to reply to all of his text messages with ‘jesus christ you’re adorable,’ made it hard to formulate actual responses. 

12:34 Louis

Okay. (:  
12:34 Harry

TFiOS?  
12:34 Louis

TFiOS.  
12:35 Harry

Okay.  
I stared up at the ceiling, wondering when breathing normally had become so difficult.

February 17th - Day 32

I walked quickly down the hall of the hospital, still trying to catch my breath after I’d attempted taking my rather unathletic body up the stairs. I’d made my way about halfway down Harry’s corridor when a melody reached my ears. It was an odd sound to hear in the hospital, but certainly not an unpleasantly one.

“ _And I know that we can be so amazing, and baby your love is gonna change meee and now I ca-_ No! No stop it you twat!” The song stopped abruptly with a clanging of guitar strings and a shriek of laughter, all coming from Harry’s room. _Did he have company?_

It seemed strange for Harry to have friends, but then, he had talked about them, and I’d seen the pictures, so it shouldn’t have been odd to me. I think it stemmed from the small part of my subconscious that considered Harry mine. He was my curly haired patient who liked to listen to me read and made blanket forts and licked the frosting off the top of his cupcakes. I guess it was just strange to have to share him.

I lingered in the doorway, taking in the semi-chaos occurring on the empty bed next to Harry’s. The guitar lay abandoned on the floor as the dark haired boy, Zayn, I was fairly sure, had the lanky blonde pinned to the bed and was tickling him mercilessly as he gasped obscenities through fits of laughter. Harry, who was watching the spectacle with an air of detached amusement, looked up at my appearance, a small smile appearing on his face.

“Hi.” I waved, using the other hand to toy with my bright red suspenders. 

“Fancy running into you here.” Harry replied from his perch on his own bed. He wasn’t completely under the covers, instead opting to wrap his comforter around his tee shirt covered shoulders. He turned to his wrestling friends. “Hello, Earth to homos, do you read?”

There was no response from the two, who at this point were not so much tickling each other as giggling and letting their hands roam across each other’s bodies.

He rolled his eyes at me, raising his voice a bit. “Oi! Quit groping each other and get the fuck out. You told me you’d be gone by three thirty and its almost four.”

“What Harry, you have somewhere to-” Zayn began, before his eyes landed on me. Shock and confusion flashed briefly across his features before an smirky kind of grin found its way onto his handsome face. “Harry it’s extremely impolite to try and hide hot people from me and Niall. I’d consider this full on treachery, wouldn’t you agree Nialler?”

Niall laughed, a loud joyous sound that brought a smile to my face. “It’s fucking terrible, Mate. Just despicable behavior.”

“You know, I think there is one way he could redeem himself.” Zayn said, tapping at finger ponderously on his stubbly chin. 

Niall leaned back draping himself across Zayn’s lap. “You think so?”

“I think he’s going to have to introduce us.”

Niall nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah Harry, whose your secret boyfriend?”

Harry rubbed his temples, as if the two were causing him physical pain. “He’s my therapist, you complete twatsacks, and I was hiding him from you for his own safety.”

“Harry baby you are just no fun at all. When you see asses like that you tap them. With speed.” Zayn replied, pinching Niall in the side just as the blonde had gotten comfortable in his lap, nearly sending him off the bed.

Harry turned to me. “I’m sorry. I’d control them if I could.” His face was his normal tired half smile, but as I looked closer I found a layer of mirth underneath that I had the feeling he was trying his best to suppress. 

“Quite alright. I mean, I do have a pretty nice ass.” I smiled, sliding my coat off my shoulders and letting it fall into a pile on the floor.

Zayn sent me a playful wink, turning back to peck Niall on the lips. “I think that’s our cue, Niall.”

“Okay.” He smiled brightly. “You’re still taking me to the movies, aren’t you?”

“Anything for you, baby.” Zayn replied half jokingly, smiling indulgently at his boyfriend.

Harry, for about the third time, rolled his eyes at their antics. “Have fun, boys.”

Zayn, who’d vacated the bed and was pulling Niall up, turned to look at Harry. “Take care of yourself, Curly.” And for a moment I could see the friend that lay behind his lazy smile and flirty remarks. There was a caring quality in everything he said, an undercurrent of warmth and comfort, marked by just a little bit of sadness that he was trying his best not to let touch Harry.

“I will Zaney.” Harry replied, giving the other boy a genuine smile.

Zayn nodded, giving Harry a quick peck on the top of the head as Niall put his guitar back in its case. “Good.” 

He turned to me, sticking out his hand. “Make sure he behaves.” I took it, startled by the ferocity in his gaze. It seemed that when Harry had claimed to have no one left to hurt, he’d made a grand miscalculation in Zayn. For all his bravado and gaiety, it seemed the dark haired boy wasn’t so ready to let go of Harry either.

“Will do.” I replied, trying to somehow communicate my understanding to Zayn. With Harry, both of us had found ourselves in the same caring-too-much boat. The sinking ship of misplaced affections. 

Niall picked up his guitar, pressing a sloppy kiss first to Harry’s cheek and then to mine. It was quick, startling and a little strange, but it was kindof nice in a way I couldn’t quite place. “It was nice to meet you!” He said brightly, his grin almost to big for his face as he careened in Zayn’s direction, snatching up his hand like if he waited to long it’d be gone.

It was only after they’d made their way into the hall that Harry let out a long sigh, wrapping himself up further into his blanket and running a hand through his artfully mussed curls. “I’ve told them a million times they don’t have to come.” He said finally. “You think when you get cancer maybe they’ll start listening to you, but they fucking don’t.”

He looked weary, as if he’d been holding the sickness inside him and it had poured over at his friends’ absence, his facade quickly falling to pieces. “A million fucking times and they still come. Cher finally stopped a few months ago, Ed, Olly, and Perrie a bit before that, but fucking Zayn and Niall...” He scooted back, slipping his feet under his blankets and hiding in the folds of fabric like he could dissolve into it if he tried hard enough.

I felt suddenly as if I had too many words bundled up inside of me, all the sentences in the world packed inside my brain but nothing to say. God, I was usually so good at this, this pulling pieces back together with words, but looking at him everything just fell to shit. “You can’t stop people from caring.” And it was a completely shitty and inadequate thing to say but I’d said it and there was no taking it back now.

“I want to.” He said, his voice muffled and soft, like he’d inhaled the cloudy day outside and was breathing it out. 

“That’s the thing about love,” I said, half-quoting the blue volume that had been worming itself around in my brain since the blanket fort. There was nothing singularly spectacular about it, but there was something perfect about the way the words trickled across the pages and the honesty of the characters that had driven me to reread the section Harry and I had started at least three times over the last week and a half. “It demands to be felt.”

“It occurred to me that there was no difference between men, in intelligence or race, so profound as the difference between the sick and the well.” He replied, with the even cadence of someone who was quoting something they’d memorized long ago. Watching Harry I had the vague sense that he was bigger than his small body, like he had far too much in his head and in his heart for six months, and that it was killing him more than the cancer.

“What?”

He looked up at me, all innocence and big green eyes. “F. Scott Fitzgerald. Gatsby.”

“Of course.” He had a strange affinity for the book, a novel about decaying dreams and love and the ever unreachable light at the end of the dock, and it fit him like a glove.

He looked down at his hands, and I was struck with the strange notion that he was on the verge of tears, before he looked back up at me with a question in his eyes, pointing a half-blanketed finger at the book in my hand. “Could you just read to me for a bit?”

“We’re going to have to talk sometime.” I said, as if there was any real possibility of me standing up to the look on his face. 

He smiled wanly, holding out his comforter and making room for me on the bed next to him. I climbed in without a second thought, because that was how Harry was, all touchy feely and warm.

I sank into the mattress, cracking the book open to the place where we’d left off and beginning to read. “That afternoon, Mom consented to loan me the car so I could drive down to Memorial to check on Isaac.” I rubbed my throat idly, noticing a bit of swelling there. I hoped I wasn’t coming down with a cold, though I supposed that was what I deserved for spending all my time in a hospital. “I found my way to his room on the fifth floor, knocking even though the door was open.”

 _...or it could be cancer._ I probed at my neck, trying to fight down the panic that was working its hardest to constrict my airways and make my heart beat out of my ribcage. I’d been cancer free for years, worrying about this was going to do nothing but cause unnecessary stress to my already emotionally harried existence. 

I kept reading, letting myself get lost in the story and Harry’s side pressed against me. It was a good ten pages before I’d thought myself back to calm state, and another five before I noticed that Harry was trying very very hard not to cry.

“Haz?” I asked, setting the book down in my lap and peering down at him. 

“I’m so selfish.” He chocked out after a moment, fisting the blanket in white knuckled hands. “God I’m so fucking selfish.”

And suddenly it occurred to me that when Harry had said that he wanted to make people stop caring he hadn’t just been talking about Zayn and Niall. 

“I just don’t want to be alone and I know they don’t want to visit me because I’m sick and they aren’t sick and I just want to die, Louis. I want to die and I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. I don’t want to hurt anymore.” It had come out all fast, stumbling and shaking, like the words had been festering inside of him until he let them burst out.

I let the book fall to the covers, reaching around and pulling him into me, tangling my fingers in his hair and tucking his head into my chest until he was so close I could feel every ragged breath he took. “Zayn loves you Harry. He loves you and I-” I rested my chin in his curls, staring at a hairline crack that traced its way down the wall. “You’re going to hurt him no matter how hard you push him away. Niall too. They don’t want you to try. You think you’re being selfish because you can’t let them go, but you’re being selfish by trying to.”

He let his hands fall from the blanket, wrapping slowly around my waist, his fingers probing and soft. “I’m running out of time.”

The words sent a pang of sadness through me. “Don’t think like that. You can’t count down the days, you have to live them.” 

He gave a halfhearted sniffle and I raised a hand to his cheek, wiping away the single tear that had escaped his best efforts. “It’s weird,” He said his voice slowly steadying. “Its like I can’t decide whether I want to die or live forever.”

“I think living forever would be terribly sad.” I replied, imagining what it would be like to know that you’d outlive everyone you’d ever meet. “You would get so lonely.”

“Not if you had someone to live forever with you.” He replied, loosening his hold on me but not letting go. I sensed that his brief meltdown was passing, the words dissipating into insignificance once he’d gotten them out. 

“The universe is not that kind.” I replied.

“No one ever said it was.” He said softly. And then he wasn’t the one who was holding onto me but the other way around, because I needed him and his soft voice to wash away all the emptiness that grew deep in my stomach and the constant fear that the cancer would come back and the strange intangible knowledge that all our days were numbered.

That was the odd thing about Harry, that he simultaneously shattered me and made all the cracks okay. 

He untangled a hand from my shirt, reaching over to the book lying closed on the bedclothes. 

“Do you want me to read to you?” He asked.

I tried my best to pull myself together, mostly succeeding. “If you’d like.”

He half smiled, flipping through the pages. “Chapter six?”

“Yep.” I settled back into the headboard, letting the gravelly tones of his voice draw the story out. He read slowly, pausing just a little bit too long after paragraphs, but it was soothing rather than irritating and I found a soft kind of safety in his words.

He was an anchor, holding me in a place, and with him I wasn’t floating anymore.

Chapter 6

February 21st - Day 36 

I knew as soon as I walked in that it was a Good Day. It had been fairly sunny all afternoon, for London at least, with tiny rays sliding through the cloud cover. What started out as a pleasant day had faded into a lovely violet sunset, the very last of which was peeking through Harry’s curtains. He was laying with his head at the bottom of the bed, his head resting on his hands, the last few minutes of what looked like an episode of Skins playing on the tv mounted on the wall.

He smiled lopsidedly when he saw me, rolling so he was belly up. 

“Skins?” I asked, noticing my blue chair’s return and pulling it over so I could see the television. Danielle, Liam, and I had plowed through the first and second seasons when we’d all come down with the flu just after moving in together, and most of my memories of the show were clouded by delirium and sickness.

“E4’s been marathoning the first season all day. I’m having fun, though I don’t think the nurses are really enjoying the amount of fucks currently coming from my room.”

“Well it certainly livens up the place.” I replied, pulling my bag onto my lap and watching Tony and Sid flit across the screen. “So how are you today?”

“Floating.” He said, taking an immense amount of delight in the cryptic quality of his answer.

“Oh really?” I asked with a grin, this new ebullience rubbing off on me. I remembered the first time I’d met him, when he wouldn’t even meet my gaze. It was amazing to watch him now, the flashes of the boy he could have been manifesting every time he looked at me. I still couldn’t believe he’d opened up like this, it was amazing really, and made my stomach twist in a private kind of happiness. Of course, he was still sick, but it hung around the edges of him instead of saturating his body.

He winked gaudily at me. “Though that might just be the heroin.”

A laugh burst out of me before I could stop it, the way he’d contorted himself on the bed combined with the complete illogic of his statement making it impossible to keep a straight face. “Babe, if you were on heroin I don’t think you’d be quite so pretty.”

He gasped, fluttering his eyelashes at me. “Are you saying I’m pretty?”

“For a pale, curly haired hermit you aren’t so bad.” I replied, wondering what had spurred this sudden good mood.

“Someone’s looking cheerful.” The nurse from two weeks ago was hovering in the doorway, a friendly expression on her face.

“As cheerful as a slow painful death can be.” He grinned lopsidedly at me as he replied, like the quip hadn’t really been for her at all.

She gave an uncertain smile, looking at me to try and gauge whether or not he was joking. “We’ve upped his painkillers, so he’ll be a bit loopy until his body gets used to them. He’s not going to be all that steady on his feet either, even more so than usual.” 

Well that certainly explained the near abandonment of his former composure. I decided I quite liked him this way, still sarcastic and the smallest bit vulgar, but tinted by a lighter, sillier quality.

“Alright, thankyou.” I offered her my best professional smile.

She smiled back, evidently satisfied with my apparent responsibility. “Just call me in if you need me.”

“Will do.” I sent her a salute, turning back to look at Harry, who was still grinning at me from the bed, his fingers tracing the hem of his tee shirt in a way that was actually fairly distracting.

“Well thank goodness we got rid of her, eh?” 

He nodded smartly. “Ew. Girls.”

I tugged his file out of my bag, using it to whack him on the leg. “Not all girls are bad. Danielle makes killer cupcakes, remember?”

“She’s acceptable.” He smiled, dimples cutting divots into his pale skin. My breath caught, the light, carefree quality in his expression making it hard for me to breathe. Laying on the bed, high on painkillers and bad television, he looked _happy._

“What are we doing today?” He asked, stretching upwards so his tee shirt rode up, revealing a strip of pale skin. I was struck by the length of his torso, all muscular and long as he curled his arms high above his head. He hadn’t really stopped moving since I’d got here, a striking change from his normal lethargic self to this wriggling ball of curls. 

“What do you want to do?” I asked.

“Something fun.” He replied, tucking his hands back down behind his head.

“Well what do you like?” I reached for my reading glasses, sliding them on with much ado and ceremoniously opening his file. There was a small informational paragraph on the second page I’d intended on reading, but my eyes paused on a date a bit higher up. “Harry I simply cannot believe you.” I said disapprovingly, tapping the page and giving him a look over my black frames.

His eyebrows disappeared into his hair. “What’ve I done now?”

“Well you completely neglected to tell me it was your birthday.” 

He gave a tiny little shrug. “It was my last one. I didn’t want to make an event out of it.”

The words felt like a blow, but I tried not to let the pain and sympathy show on my face. He didn’t need any of that right now. “Well that’s as good a reason as any to make it special, isn’t it?”

“I guess.” His earlier grin had faded to just the barest of smiles, his lips quirked up sadly on one side. I decided then that there was nothing I wouldn’t do to see his dimples again.

I closed his file, slipping it back in my bag among my wallet, TFiOS, a pile of receipts, and cough drops, for the coughing fits I’d been having all week. Not cancer, not cancer, definitely not cancer. “At least tell me you had cake.” I said, trying to ignore the nervous sweat that was prickling my hands at the negative thoughts.

He looked up at the television, biting his lip guiltily as he avoided my gaze.

“Harry it was your birthday and you didn’t even have cake?!” I exclaimed, standing up with a start. “This is completely unacceptable. Where is your phone, we are calling the kitchen and demanding cake.”

He made a long, drawn out forlorn noise that ended up sounding just the smallest bit giggly. “Nooo Louis nooo! The cake here tastes like cardboard and sadness.”

“Cardboard and sadness you say?” I looked from him to the clear evening outside, a plan formulating in my mind. “Well then how do you feel about an adventure?”

His smile grew, not quite to earth-stopping, blinding dimple proportions, but a little mischievous grin that made his eyes sparkle. “What kind of an adventure?”

“The kind that ends with cake.”

He sat up, flipping his hair to the side in a wave of curls. “Well you know how I feel about cake.”

I smiled, snapping my messenger bag shut and wiggling my fingers at him. “Lets go, Haz.”

He reached for my hands, tangling his fingers in mine and letting me haul him up. He held a standing position for a moment, before wobbling a bit and collapsing into my arms with a squeak. He looked up at me, green eyes wide and smiling, and I had the strangest notion that he’d fallen on purpose. “Oops.”

“Caught you.” I replied, pushing him halfway upright. “What is it about trips to Danielle’s bakery that make it impossible for you to keep yourself upright?”

He didn’t let go of me, though whether it was for stability or not I wasn’t quite sure. He was actually a bit taller than me, and I had to look up ever so slightly to meet his eyes when he drew himself up to his full height. Most of it was the curls, but he had a good inch or two on me. “I guess baked goods just make me weak at the knees.”

“I’ve been known to grow faint at the sight of a particularly good doughnut.” I replied, trying not to get too caught up in the fact my arms were still wrapped around his waist and his were resting on mine. I knew I was being a complete preteen about this, but I couldn’t help the tiny butterflies that fluttered about my stomach at our proximity. I could feel his breath on my lips, his eyes holding mine with a playful glimmer, and it was making everything around us a little bit blurry.

“I think I can make it to the closet from here.” He said after a long moment, his voice quiet and nearly amused. I nodded, letting my arms drop and watching as he pulled his jacket on with moderate steadiness. 

“No offense, but are you going to be able to walk the whole way there?” I asked, watching him totter around the hospital room, nearly falling over as he laced up his white converse.

He looked up, a cheeky grin on his face. “What, so you aren’t planning on carrying me the whole way?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Do you honestly think I could carry you?”

He stood, zipping his coat up to his chin. “You never know.”

“I think you’ll have to settle for me pushing you, carrying is a bit out of the realm of possibility.” I replied, pointing a finger to the wheelchair collapsed against the wall near the window. 

He took one look at the chair and then back at me, making a face that was simultaneously both adorable and completely terrifying before headed over to the chair, pulling it open, and plopping himself onto the slick blue seat. “Lets go _fast._ ”

Sneaking him out turned out to be even easier than last time. There was no one at the reception desk, and we made it down the elevator and out the door without issue. It was a lovely evening for February, only made lovelier by Harry’s quiet humming and our idle chatter as I pushed him down the sidewalks.

The friendly light of the bakery was a welcome sight for my tired muscles and gasping lungs, and I gave him one final push through the doorway and into the warm shop. I stretched my arms high above my head, taking a long breath of sweet scented air and spurring a rather spectacular coughing fit.

There was a small scuffle in the back, before Dani poked her head out from behind a cooling rack. “Louis!” She exclaimed, brushing her hands on her apron and heading to the counter, her eyes lighting up when she saw my guest. “And Harry too?”

I nodded, giving her a stern look as her eyes flicked from me to him with mirth and excitement in her eyes. “Can we borrow your kitchen?” 

She put a hand on her hip. “Borrow?”

“Temporarily occupy.” Harry added, uncrossing his legs and standing, his fingers squeezing my forearm for balance. 

“It’s a matter of life and death.” I explained seriously, as Harry nodded in agreement. 

She rolled her eyes. “You know I close at eight.”

“Cancer perk?” Offered Harry hopefully, shooting her his best lopsided grin. _God, he was just so fucking charming when he wanted to be._ /p>

“Louis, I am doing this only because your friend is very very cute.” She said after a deliberating pause, making a show of glaring at me and turning world wearily back to the cash register, beginning to count out the day’s earnings. 

I smiled, knowing that Danielle had never been able to resist adorable grins; it was one of the reasons she loved Liam so much. “Thanks Dani, you’re the best.” I led Harry to the kitchen, hovering my hand on the small of his back to make sure he stayed upright.

“Yes I am!” She called back to me, her tone softening the words.

“You know I can walk by myself.” Harry whispered as we headed into the cozy kitchen, though he made no move to escape the light touch of my hand.

I raised my eyebrows at him. “Can you really?”

“Mostly.” He replied, heading to the counter and hoisting himself onto it. “What kind of cake are we making?”

“I was thinking chocolate, with vanilla icing?” I reached up to pull a cook book from one of the shelves, examining the homey red cover. They were mostly for decoration as Danielle had nearly all of her recipes memorized at this point, but I was not quite so versed in the art of baking.

I read down the table of contents, my eyes falling on what was billed as ‘Supreme Chocolate Cake.’ “Look good?” I asked, flipping to the page and holding it up for Harry to see.

He gave a bouncy nod, holding his hands out. “Looks perfect.”

“So do you.” I gave him a grin, trying to play it off as a joke, though judging by the pink flush that crept across his cheeks and the warm heat rising on my own I had a feeling I wasn’t being all that successful. What the hell was that even? This whole thing was getting ridiculous. Harry was a patient, a dying patient who didn’t date, and I might be relapsing. It wouldn’t work, no matter how much I wished it would. There was no happy ending for us.

“Read me out the ingredients. Though I should let you know I’m not the best when it comes to baking.” I said, moving over to the rack holding the large tubs of flour and sugar and avoiding his gaze. Though I was loathe to admit it, I was a little bit afraid of what I’d find there. 

“2 cups of sugar, in a bowl.” He began, the low vibration of his voice calming my frazzled nerves. I reached for the measuring cups and a large blue bowl, scooping up a large cup.

“You do know you actually have to get the extra off the top, right? Otherwise it’s more than a cup.” He said, and I had the strong suspicion that he was seriously thinking about laughing at me. Things between us didn’t seem to be able to remain awkward for too long, as Harry was just too easygoing. I guess if I were a twisting confusing river with no beginning or any concept of destination, Harry was an enormous lake, surface calm, letting everything slip easily under the surface.

“That’s what I was doing.” I lied, sliding my finger across the top of the cup and sending crystals cascading onto myself, the floor, and partially back in the bin. 

“Sure you were.” He replied, a small chuckle escaping from his lips.

“Fuck you.” I replied easily, pouring the two cups into the bowl.

“2 cups of flour in with that.” He added, swinging his feet back and forth so they bopped against the cabinets. 

I moved over to the flour, carefully measuring the two cups out and sneaking glances at him. By the end, I’d ended up with flour all down my front and powdering my bright red toms.

“You suck at this a little bit, Lou.” Harry observed from his place on the counter, a smirk coloring his tone.

I flicked some flour at him, only really succeeding in covering the floor in the tiny white particles. “I will deny you cake if you give me sass.” 

“I take it all back.” He held his hands up in submission. “Just put in 1 tablespoon of salt and promise not to withhold deserts from poor, sick Harry.”

“That I can do.” I replied, enjoying the easy camaraderie of the kitchen and his gaze on me. He showed a lot through his eyes, I was noticing. He didn’t really spend all that much time effectively hiding his feelings, whether happy or sad, but his eyes told stories books would take ages to tell. I dipped the spoon into the salt, leveling off the top with a careful finger.

“Did you mean it?” He asked, his voice timid. 

“Mean what?” I asked, as if I didn’t know what he was talking about. The soft buzz of the radio in the corner filled the heavy silence, some light piano trickling from the speakers as I waited for him to answer. I gripped the spoons far too tightly in my fingers, pouring the crystals into the bowl.

“The thing you said.” He murmured, and I looked over at him. He had his gaze locked on the ground, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his coat, curls falling into his face. There was a shyness about him, like he was just as nervous as I was. 

“Of course I meant it.” I replied, trying to be flippant as I peered into the cookbook in his lap for the next ingredient.

“Yeah?” He looked up, green eyes hooded and piercing all at once, peeking out from his mass of hair and so close to mine. Everything about him put me out of my depth, making my words clumsy and my heart bit just a little bit faster.

I nodded, giving the smallest shrug. “Yeah.”

There was a pause after the word, a warm sugar scented moment that I wanted to wrap up and put in my pocket forever. 

“You need eggs.” He said finally, looking down as pink flushed across his cheeks. “Two eggs.”

I nodded, moving to the fridge and trying to ignore the buoyant quality my steps had taken, like if I jumped I’d just fly up up and away. 

“If you get any shells in I might have to kill you.” He called after me, resuming his cabinet kicking.

I just smiled, opening the door of the fridge with an eyeroll of epic proportions.

Despite my initial baking failures, Harry and I managed to somehow get the batter together fairly well, and had it poured into a pan before Danielle returned from her tidying of the shop. 

“Im quite impressed, Lou.” Harry remarked as I slid the pan into the oven. “This had a large potential for disaster and we managed to avoid it.”

“Here’s to hoping we don’t burn our hard work.” I replied, closing the oven with a click. 

He shrugged, heading over to the yellow tiled wall, sliding down the surface with a yawn. “I don’t know, if you put enough frosting on it I’ll pretty much eat anything.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” I quipped, running a hand through my expertly styled hair with a yawn of my own. “You’re making me sleepy, Styles.”

He patted the floor next to him. “Nap with me then. This tile is plenty comfortable.”

“Is it though?” I asked, grabbing my bag from the counter and sitting down beside him, leaning my head back against the wall. 

“Not particularly.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, looking decidedly sleepy and a bit like a floppy haired teddy bear.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, not wanted to interrupt the piano stained silence. I thought that maybe one of my favorite things about Harry was his companionship with quiet. I was not a quiet person, not in any sense of the word, but Harry seemed to hold within him a low hush.

I’d nearly memorized the lines of the oven and countertops when Harry finally spoke. “They’re thinking of maybe starting chemo again.”

The statement hung in the air for a long moment, making my breath catch. “What?”

He shrugged, leaning himself into my body. I adjusted, letting him curl into me “They think it’ll give me more time.”

I rested my chin on his head. I wanted more time, I wanted every second I could get and more, but I didn’t miss the wavering in his tone and the way his hands turned nervously in his pockets, and I guessed that Harry didn’t feel the same. Though it pained me to think of losing him, I understood. To people who haven’t had cancer, it’s impossible to understand what its like to live in a body thats rebelling against you, to really feel how the radiation seeps into your bones and drowns you in weariness, but when its happening to you dying almost seems like a welcome respite from the pain. “Have you told them you don’t want to?”

“It’s not my choice.” He replied simply.

“You’re eighteen, it’s your body. You can say no.” 

He shook his head ever so slightly. “I can’t. She just- I don’t blame her.”

“She?” I asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his hand, threading his fingers through mine. _I’m sorry. Feel better. Be better._

“Mum. I can’t tell her- I don’t want-” His words were breaking now, trailing off and starting up like he couldn’t quite pull his emotions together long enough to form a coherent sentence.

I didn’t speak, only rubbed my thumb slowly across his hand, trying to pour comfort into him. He took a ragged breath, continuing. “She thinks she can keep buying me time. More quarters in the parking meter, one more month, two more months. More pills, that’s two weeks, maybe three. A bit of experimental medication, that’ll be a month. Saving your son from dying on his bedroom floor where he belongs, you get seven months. Congratulations Mrs. Cox, you must be so proud.”

“Oh Harry.” I said softly, letting him huddle against my body. I guess in the vein of lame water metaphors, Harry was a lake, the kind with low dark depths and monsters in the deep. “She’s only doing it because she loves you.”

“I know.” He murmured. “That makes it worse.”

“I wish I could fix this for you.” I said, smoothing my hand over his shoulder. “I wish I could buy you all the time in the world.”

“Don’t say that.” He said, letting out a long gust of air.

“Why not?”

I’d thought I knew why, maybe his abhorrence for anyone who said they cared, maybe because he knew it couldn’t happen. But I guess he never really stopped surprising me. “Because when you say it sometimes I think maybe you could.”

And as we sat together on the kitchen floor, I think I understood what Hazel had meant when she said she fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou so much for your kudos and comments, you're all lovely and your support means so much to me <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! It takes forever to format things on here and junior year has been kicking my ass so updates are not going up all that fast. I'll try to get the next one up in a more timely manner. (:

February 23rd - Day 38

I woke up with a start, head spinning, chest heaving, and my entire body slick with sweat. I shot up in bed, my heart pumping frantically in my chest, too fast, never fast enough. 

Sitting there with the sheets tangled up in my limbs was like a nightmare that I couldn’t shake off, A bad dream that started the moment I woke up. I felt my neck, fingers brushing my swollen throat with a wince that had nothing to do with pain.

_God please not again. I can’t do it again._

It was dark in my room, shadows that shifted and crawled up to the foot of my bed. I thought about calling for Liam, making him come and hold me until it was alright, but I didn’t want to worry him, make him look at me with that stupid Liam face that was worse than all the _im sorrys_ in the world. 

I reached up and ran my fingers through my hair, tugging desperately at the strands, pulling them out in my fingers and wanting to scream and scream and never make a sound again. I was ripping apart and forgetting how to breath and _fuck not again not again._

I scrambled for my phone, holding it in shaking fingers and knowing the only person I could really call.

Please pick up.

I need you

please.

His voice cut off the third ring, soft and sleepy and softening the panic in my bones. “Louis.”

“Talk to me please.”

Covers rustled on the other side, and I heard his breath through the line. There were no whys or what’s wrongs or are you okays, just slowly and sure: “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.”

He paused, clearing his throat and humming softly into the receiver as he thought. “I could sing to you. Would that be okay?”

“That’s perfect.” I rolled onto my side, clutching my pillow to my stomach and staring out into the night, the small slit in the curtain letting the moonlight and streetlights melt in.

“ _You and I, two of a mind._ ” He began quietly, his singing voice just like his speaking voice in a melody, gravely and low and a little bit beautiful. “ _This loves, one of a kind..._ ”

I let the swirling air in my room brush across my flushed cheeks as I sank into the sound of his voice. I wanted to see him, to crawl up next to him and bury my head in his neck and not have to think. But this, holding the plastic of my phone to my ear and listening to him, was enough calm my heartbeats.

It was like a lullaby, his voice, his breathing and mine as he took the verses and the chorus in that sweet voice that slid the syllables together and held heavy with sleep.

He finished no louder than he’d began, the last lines nearly fading into nothing as they fell from his lips.

_and I will fall for you, if I fall for you, would you fall too?_

xx

I woke up at eight in the morning to my alarm and two texts from Harry. I kicked my covers off, feeling my sticky forehead with shaky hands, my hair laying in damp strands across the surface. I let out an uneven sigh, standing up and walking to my small window, tugging the curtains open and staring out onto the street below as I thumbed at my phone.

3:21 Harry

I hope you’re okay.  
3:23 Harry

Sleep well.  
I tapped my fingers lightly on the screen, tracing the messages over and over until they were branded in my mind. I wasn’t okay and I certainly hadn’t slept well, but it was a nice sentiment. I looked forlornly back at my sheets, pale blue and wet where my sweaty skin had lain only minutes before. I stripped the bed, wishing I could just crawl into their soft folds and never move again. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep, but I wanted nothing more than to pull them over my head and not think.

I thought about calling in sick, which struck me as absurdly hypocritical, since most of my patients were permanently called in sick. Cancer did that. But then, I supposed I might have already joined their ranks, those on the rather shorter road to death, while those around us took the long and winding path.

I shuffled out of my room and into the bathroom, letting out a long moan when I caught a glimpse of my reflection. “Face, I am not in the mood for this shit right now.” I said levelly, since apparently talking to myself was a thing I did now. I rubbed my eyes, wishing I could wipe the bags away and erase the purpling skin there.

Giving up for the moment, I headed to the kitchen clad in nothing more than my ratty gray sweatpants. Liam had already headed off to uni, leaving me alone in the quiet apartment to fix myself coffee and generally fight the urge to curl in on myself and never move again.

As it brewed, I turned my phone over in my hands, glimpses of Harry slipping through my mind. Curly hair. Icing on the tip of his nose. Long fingered hands resting on yellowed pages. I just wanted to see him again, sink into the place where everything became a little bit okay. 

8:06 Louis

\- Thankyou for caring about me.

I lay my phone on the counter, stepping uncoordinatedly out of my sweatpants and leaving them in a pile in the hall on my way to the bathroom. I shucked my boxers in the corner, stepping into the shower and turning the tap on hot, relishing in the burning rush of the water on my skin. 

My thoughts came in lethargic swirls as I soaped myself up, the steam already clouding the mirror. I didn’t want to go to work, I wanted to sit in Danielle’s kitchen and watch her make muffins while she murmured along to the music. I wanted to tease Liam about the number of times he’s seen Toy Story and ask him if he ever washes that BRIT jumper or if it’s just part of his skin now. I wanted to be with Harry.

I thought about him, about buying more time, of his insistence on eating the icing first, the way he’d smiled at me over his slice of chocolate cake like maybe that moment was something wonderful. I thought about six months. Five now.

I stepped out of the shower, wrapping myself up in a towel and traipsing into my room. My closet was a cold and unforgiving row of button downs and tight pants, and I found myself wearing a pair of decently presentable red sweats and a comfy gray shirt, with not even half the motivation required to change out of them. I had a feeling my patients would understand. They had a very solid grasp of bad days.

When I returned to the kitchen, my phone was lit up with a new message.

8:30 Harry

It’s my sincerest pleasure to care about you.  
A sentence that simply shouldn’t have twisted my stomach into such complicated knots. I had to see him. If we were both running out of time there was nothing I’d rather do than spend what I had with him.

8:33 Louis

\- Have any cake left?

I poured the semi-lukewarm coffee into a thermos, splashing in a bit of milk and screwing on the lid, then taking a long swig as I waited for him to answer.

8:34 Harry

I do.  
8:34 Louis

\- Enough for sharing?

I headed back to the bathroom, giving my hair a quick blowdry. After five extremely frustrating minutes I gave up on styling my hair, instead opting to shove a beanie on and go about making myself a bowl of cereal.

8:35 Harry

Hoping I’ll share it with you?  
8:38 Louis

That’s the idea, yes.  
8:39 Harry

Well I guess I could be persuaded.  
8:39 Louis

I’ll be over around three.  
8:39 Harry

Okay.  
8:40 Louis

Okay.  
I felt my tired mouth curl into a half smile as I stared at his reply, tapping out a steady beat on my countertop with my fingertips. I flipped my phone closed, then open again, staring at the tiny little icons. I went to my contacts, beginning the slow scroll through numbers I hadn’t called in months until I landed on my doctor’s name. It occurred to me that having your doctor’s number in your contact list was perhaps not the most normal thing, but it was a habit left over from my cancer days.

I dialed, holding the receiver up to my ear with a sigh. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to.

A cheerful receptionist picked up on the other line, her bright voice sounding strange in my ear. “Hello, this is Maggie speaking, how may I help you?”

“Hi.” I replied, my voice rough even to my own ears. “I’d like to make an appointment.”

xx

Olly Murs was my favorite patient for a lot of reasons, and having him as my eleven o’clock was a blessing I was in sore need of today. He was six with a speech impediment, big blue eyes, and Lymphoma. To be honest, I was fairly sure his parents had only hired him a therapist so he’d have someone to entertain him for two hours, but he was an adorable little kid and I didn’t really mind. 

I tapped on his door, finding him sitting at the table by his bed, nearly bald head shining in the lamp light. I normally met him in my tiny office, but he was just recovering from an operation, relegating him to a hospital room instead. Olly had what I liked to call reverse ADD, meaning that he had the ability to concentrate on one task for extended amounts of time and, from the first time I’d walked through his door until now, that task had been coloring.

He looked up at me with a grin when I entered, a lost tooth giving him a gap on the right side of him mouth. “Allo mistah Lou.”

I smiled down at him despite myself, unable to resist his nickname for me. I swear to god, if anyone put that kid into speech therapy, I would literally kill them. 

“So what are we coloring today, Love?” I asked him, sitting cross legged on the tile. 

He held up his coloring book proudly. “I jus’ a got new book. It’s _fishes._ ”

“Ooh nice job with that clownfish. I’m liking the purple.” I replied, reaching into my bag for the Care Bear coloring book I was slowly making my way through. 

“Louis.” He lisped disapprovingly as he placed the book back on the table, fishing a yellow crayon from his box of crayolas. “That color is wavender.”

“Apologies, Mr. Murs.” I picked up a bright red, starting in on the first curve of a rainbow. “Wont happen again.”

“Good!” He returned to his seascape, outlining a big puffer fish in the lemony color. He was pretty good actually, his creations all evenly shaded and meticulously outlined, and I wondered what his drawings would look like without the lines.

I picked up a blue crayon, shading in a smiling bear as I tried not to think about the appointing lurking tomorrow morning. I was coloring the same spot with perhaps unnecessary venom when Olly’s voice piped up.

“Why are you sad, mistah Louis?”

I looked up at him in surprise. “I’m not sad.”

He nodded quickly, his chin bouncing nearly into his chest with the movement. “Yes you are.” He leaned across the table a bit, examining me with keen eyes. “Is it because you love someone?”

I cocked my head at him. “Why would loving someone make me sad?”

He gave a shrug, sitting back and flipping through the coloring pages, giving each page a thorough once over before turning it. “Well Mum loves me and that makes her sad a lot.”

I wanted to hug him so badly then it almost hurt. “I guess I do love someone, a little bit.” I admitted, because really what the hell did I have to lose at this point. My life was falling apart and Harry felt like both the cure and the catalyst.

“Is she pretty?” He asked, completely indifferent to my emotional turmoil. That was one of my favorite parts about children, their brutal honesty and simplicity. There were no hidden layers or complications, just truth.

“It’s not a she.” I replied, leaving him to make of that what he may.

Olly seemed to pause for a moment, the little gears in his head turning. He picked up a vibrant pink, looked down at the little jellyfish dotting his page, then back up at me. “Is _he_ pretty?

I smiled. “Too pretty for his own good.”

“Just like me?” He asked, smiling toothily, the gap between his teeth wide in his tiny mouth. 

“Maybe even prettier than you, Little Murs.” I replied.

He shook his head vehemently. “Nope.”

I let out a laughing cough, my exceptionally shitty week seeming slightly less shitty. “Okay, okay, equally pretty.”

“Kay.” He flipped his book back to the first page, where two dolphins had been colored a foamy green in front of of a big blue sky. He ripped it out with the utmost care and handed it to me after scrawling his name in scarlet at the bottom. “Give this to him. Tell him its from me.”

“Any particular reason?” I asked, accepting the gift with a smile and tucking it into my bag.

“Because you love him.” He replied, like that should have cleared everything up for me. And I guess, as a seven year old, it did. The people you loved you made pictures and there was no dying or unrequited feelings or complications.

I only wished things could’ve stayed that simple.

Chapter 8

Harry’s room was blissfully empty when I entered, just him and his computer on his big blue bed. He looked up when I entered, a tired smile curling across his face.

“You’re starting to look like me.” He remarked, nodding to my sweatpants and beanie with amusement.

I shrugged, sitting down on my chair and letting my feet rest on his bed. “It was not a tight pants kind of day at the Tomlinson-Payne household this morning.”

“I empathize. It’s never a tight pants kind of day for me.” He set his computer to the ground, shutting it with a small click.

“Well isn’t that a damn shame.” I replied, smiling slightly. “I have something for you actually.”

“Oh really?” He raised an eyebrow, peering into my bag as I opened it and dug around inside. I was really appreciating his complete dismissal of last night. I wanted to talk about it, but at the same time, admitting what I was going through to anyone made it too real for me to handle, and making the appointment had been hard enough. If I was diagnosed, I’d tell him. I would.

I pulled out the picture, presenting it to him. “Courtesy of Olly Murs, my favorite six year old.”

“Excellent shading.” He remarked with a grin, genuine happiness in his eyes. “He’s a patient?”

“Lymphoma. The sweetest freaking kid you’ll ever meet, and really big on coloring.” 

Harry traced the outline of a dolphin with his finger, then placed the picture on his beside table next to the photos. “Well who isn’t big on coloring?” 

“No one I’d like to talk to.” I replied, fighting a yawn for a moment, and losing horribly.

He gave me a knowing glance, evidently not allowing the subject go entirely unreferenced. “Didn’t get much sleep last night?”

I replied with a glare, crossing my arms defiantly over my chest. “You might say that.”

He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence, eyes sparkling with mirth. “I see how it is, you need me at night, and then I’m nothing to you in the morning. Don’t worry, I’m not hurt.”

“Oh sod off.” I poked him in the leg with the toe of my toms. 

He gave a cheeky smile, pulling the covers up around his waist and tucking himself into the nest of pillows he’d amassed at the head of his bed. “Not likely.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, resisting the urge to get in another hit with my foot.

He gave me a tiny little smile, which I returned in kind, our eyes meeting in a way that made my heart flutter up into my throat. 

“I think I like it better when we talk about you.” I said, a chill permeating my skin even as I huddled into my jacket.

He chuckled. “Now you know how I feel.” 

I was starting to, but not quite in the way he thought. “Nah, but talking about you is my job.”

“Really?” He asked. “I thought it was providing me with baked goods.”

“Cheeky.” I replied, giving a small shiver. It was cool in his room, even with my jacket.

He snickered at me, wrapping the blankets tighter around himself. “Getting a bit cold over there, Louis?”

“It’s fucking freezing in here, fuck you.” I replied, rubbing my arms in an attempt to warm up.

“Well I was going to let you climb in my nice warm bed, but if you’re going to swear at me...” He shrugged, curls falling into his face. 

“Well I’d have declined, considering that getting in your bed would be highly unprofessional.” I countered snootily, though it did look undeniably cozy in there.

“And calling me at three in the morning is?” He raised an eyebrow. “And it’s not like you haven’t fallen asleep in my bed before, Mr. Professional.”

I bit my lip guiltily, not feeling half as bad as I should. “Both fair points.”

He rolled his eyes, folding open his covers and scooting over. “Well get in then.”

I smiled impishly, kicking off my shoes and hopping onto his bed.

“Jesus, do you wash your feet, like, ever?” He asked, shoving me a bit as I climbed in.

“Nope. I put them in plastic bags when I shower.” I replied, pressing them up to his calves.

He looked scandalized, making an affronted noise and slapping at my arms. I held up a finger, employing my best sassy smirk. “So help me God, I will bite you Harry Styles.”

“I don’t believe you!” He replied, a grin making his eye crinkle up at the edges and dimples appear in his cheeks. He was kindof beautiful really, pale skin, pink lips and broad shoulders that his tee shirt clung to, fabric soft and thin. He looked like a doll, a doll with glassy green eyes and a limbs that were far too long for his body.

“I would!” I argued, never one to back down from a challenge.

“You won’t!” He replied, every syllable carrying a dare. 

I dived at him, sinking my teeth into his shoulder. He tasted warm and nearly salty in my mouth, the cotton catching on my teeth as I held on. He squeaked underneath me, squirming into the pillow.

“Fucking vampires in my bed!” He squealed girlishly, reaching for my ripcage and digging his fingers in, sending me into a fit of giggles.

“No!” I gasped, trying to wriggle away but unable to escape his hands. “Not good! Not good!”

He let out a laugh, one of those big bursting things that seemed to erupt out of him when he wasn’t watching, surprising even himself with their intensity. “You brought this upon yourself!”

I tried hiding underneath the covers, only to have him pull me back up by the wrists, ending up with him curled over me, curls hanging into my face, his smile childish and gleeful. “Mercy! Mercy!”

“Rule of thumb, Boo Bear,” He began sagely, rolling off of me. “Never bite people bigger than you.”

“I hate you a little bit.” I replied moodily, curling up next to him in the now mussed covers, his head nested onto my chest, maneuvering so my arm fit around his shoulders.

“No you don’t.” He replied easily, settling down with a sigh. 

“A little.” I hated how much I needed him. I hated how he could never be mine. I hated our circumstances, his illness, our lack of a forever. Because sitting here the pristine hospital bed I thought maybe I’d spend an infinity with him if I could.

“Well I hate you a little bit too.” He replied matter of factly, and I could feel the subtext underneath the words but couldn’t read it. 

“Okay.” I replied, content to just lay here with him. 

“Okay.” He sounded vaguely petulant repeating it back to me, like we were having an argument I hadn’t been informed of. For the amount of time I was spending with Harry, I still didn’t quite know him. I wanted to, to become intimate with his mannerisms, the things he loved more than anything, his favorite flavor of ice cream, all the secrets he kept hidden in his skin. 

I guess what I really wanted was to gather him up in my mind, so when he was gone I could go deep into my chest cavity and open up the little box marked Harry Styles and keep him forever. 

“Want me to read to you?” I offered, twirling a loose curl between my fingers, careful not to tug on it. I had the vague sense he wanted to say something to me, but I knew from past experience that asking about it wouldn’t do any good. He’d wait to catch me off guard and then say whatever he had to say in that slow, gravelly voice of his.

“If you’d like.” He replied, reaching across my chest for my bag, which I’d set on the edge of the bed and had miraculously not fallen off the side. I took it from him, pulling out the familiar blue volume and opening to the page we’d bookmarked with a stray scrap of paper when we’d last stopped, after filling ourselves up with cake on the floor of the bakery.

“We walked in silence, Augustus a half step in front of me...” I began, settling my body around his. It was strange how even though he was technically bigger than me, I somehow ended up curling around him, but strange in a nice way. I guess if I thought about it, that was our whole relationship in a single sentence. Strange, in a nice way. 

We’d gotten through three chapters when Harry finally spoke, just like I’d known he would. “March 2nd.”

I set the book down on my thigh, looking down at the messy head of curls pressed into my collarbone. “What about it, love?”

He slumped a little into me, like he was hoping I’d just absorb him. “That’s when they’re going to start chemo.”

“That’s really soon.” I observed with surprise. He’d mentioned it last Tuesday, but it had been more of an intangible concept, some awful cloud hanging deep on the horizon, and now it was nearly upon us. Everything was moving so fast, I felt like one morning I’d wake up and he’d be gone.

“I get seven days. That’s not enough, is it?” 

“It’s never enough.” I replied, tapping out a rhythm on his arm, thinking about how often you have to get by on things that aren’t enough. “But its all you get.”

He nodded, and I sensed that he did understand. It was part of his resignation, this understanding of time, that it was fluid and limited and that we borrowed it, and sooner or later we had to give it all back. “When I was sixteen I wanted a lot of things.” He said finally, tone heavy with a kind of nostalgia.

I set my chin in his curls, waiting for him to continue, hearing the beginning of something on his tongue. “I was so naive and I wanted so much. I thought maybe I could do anything. I was pretty and young and stupid and the world was limitless, until it wasn’t. That was the worst part, watching the years fall away. I had one year left and I wasted it. Looking back, none of it mattered. None of the people I hurt or loved or the things I did mattered at all. I had eighteen years and I’m going to die with a whisper.”

“But I’ll hear it.” I said in a whisper of my own, and then the words came easily. I knew the right thing to say, the truest truth I knew. “For a long time I used to think that life was about doing great things and changing the world, and I used to think I could. But I can’t, and neither can you. The point of life is to do what you can with what you have and to feel something. To live until you can’t anymore, and not break anything too beautiful while you do.”

“But I could have done so much.” He replied, fingers twisting in the comforter, voice thick.

“You did. You did all you could.” I replied, holding him as close to me as our bodies would allow. He was so important. He was unprecedented and perfect and he had no idea. 

“I just wanted so much more.” He said, hands finally finding mine, shaking fingers threading through my own. 

“So do it. Tell me what you want to do.” I replied. He’d spent an awful lot of time dying and it was time he lived a little bit.

He hmm’ed low in the back of his throat for a minute, fingers tapping against the back of my hand as he thought. “Bowling.” 

“Bowling?” I asked, once again completely blindsided by his answer. If there was one thing I could count on, it was that Harry would never be what I was expecting.

“There’s this crap bowling alley in Lewisham I used to go to every Friday night. The whole lot of us, Niall, Zayn, Cher, Ed, and Aiden would go and we’d just spend hours fucking around. It was our place, and it was completely shit and grimy and actually pretty boring, but it was...” His voice had taken on a wistful quality. “Those are some of the best memories I have. I just want to go back there one more time.”

“Seven o’clock then. Tomorrow. Text Niall and Zayn and I’ll bring Liam and Danielle. We can make a night of it.” I replied easily, teasing a hand through his hair. 

He nodded slowly. “Would Liam and Danielle want to come?” 

I hit him lightly in the head with my chin, eliciting a displeased squeak. “Of course they’ll want to come you ninny.”

“Okay.” He yawned, eyes squeezing shut with the movement.

“Tired?” I asked fondly.

He nodded. “As Hazel says, sleep fights cancer.”

“I should probably leave you to it then.” I replied, halfheartedly wiggling out of his grasp.

He reached for my tee shirt, fingers tangling in the fabric and keeping me with him. “Stay.” He said softly, eyes beseeching. “Read to me until I fall asleep.”

And so I did.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this takes so long to get up, I just have an intense hatred of italics formatting. >.

February 24th - Day 39

It was only after I walked into the bowling alley and saw Harry, Niall and Zayn sitting on the old turquoise seats that I understood. The place had a dirty glamour about it, like had once been stylish but had fallen into dirty scratched linoleum and stained navy carpet, ceiling leaking and waterstained, grimy light fixtures sending pale light into the crevices. 

It was mostly empty, some pop song I vaguely recognized playing over crackling speakers as I headed over to the three, Danielle and Liam trailing behind me. 

Harry was the first to notice us, raising a hand in greeting. He was wearing a bright red jumper, the sleeves pushed up around his elbows, a pressed white collar sticking out the top, and tight blue jeans. 

I tapped his thigh with my first two fingers when we reached them, shooting him a grin. “Scored a tight pants day, I see.”

He smiled crookedly, a vague bit of flirtation hanging on the edge of his lips. “Don’t you feel lucky.”

“It’s better than the lottery.” I replied, turning to Liam and Danielle, who were hanging onto each other’s hands on the fringes of the conversation, like they were waiting for permission to join. “Liam, Danielle, this is Harry, Zayn and Niall.”

Handshakes and greetings were exchanged all around, Danielle even diving in to give Harry a hug. 

“Been enjoying the cake I frosted for you while you two lazies napped on my floor?” She asked, sliding her jacket off and sitting next to him.

He nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve never tasted vanilla icing so good.”

“Harry, you had cake and you didn’t share with us?!” Called Niall from his reclined position, elbows on the seat cushion, legs draped over Zayn. 

Harry threw up his hands in mock despair. “Look what you’ve done now, Danielle! Now Niall’s going to kill us. This is entirely your fault.”

“Damn right I’m going to kill you. First hot people, and then cake...”

“You’re on a slippery slope, Styles.” Zayn cut in, worrying his fingers across Niall’s knee and shaking his head disapprovingly at Harry.

“It was terrible cake.” I clarified, taking a spot between Harry and Zayn. “Absolutely vile, nothing you’d want to deal with.”

Zayn leaned over to Niall, stage whispering into his ear. “I don’t know Niall, this sounds like a plot to keep us from desserts.”

“No, he’s right, if it came from Danielle’s bakery you know it isn’t any good.” Cut in Liam, tugging on one of his girlfriend’s bouncy curls.

She smacked him lightly on the arm. “He’s a dirty liar.”

He adopted a wounded expression. “I am not!”

She rolled her eyes, leaning conspiratorially toward the two boys. “I’ll send some cupcakes with Lou and then we’ll see who’s telling the truth here.”

Niall shook his head frantically. “Aww no you can’t send them through Harry, he’ll eat them!”

“I most certainly will not!” Harry protested, crossing his arms childishly over his chest. 

I leaned over, patting Niall on the head. “Don’t worry love, I’ll make sure he doesn’t get near them.”

He put a hand over his heart. “You’re my hero, mate.”

At which point the conversation veered somewhere toward the direction of bowling, losing me around the time Harry’s eyes met mine.

He gave me a smile, jerking my head towards our friends, who were currently attempting to coax the scoring machine into compliance. _Everyone’s getting along really well._

I nodded, happy with how easily our groups had melted together. How Niall and Zayn’s chemistry turned into a double team comedy act, the way Danielle had taken to Harry right away, Liam’s amusement at the whole situation, and Niall’s affinity for anything involving food... everything just fit. _Better than I could have hoped for._

He nodded back, concurring with my unspoken statement. He seemed to drift off for a moment, eyes flicking downwards and away from my gaze.

I gave him a look, tapping him softly on the chin to raise his face back up to mine. _You’re thinking about it again aren’t you._

He shrugged, half of his mouth twisted into a near parody of a smile. _Yeah._

I shook my head, using my index fingers to pull my lips into a grin. _Not tonight, okay?_

He nodded, attempted a smile that came out nearly genuine. _Okay._

I mirrored him, taking his hands in mine and pulling him to his feet. I could feel his unsteadiness in the way he stood, pigeon toed and unstable as always, but he stayed upright when I let go. _Bowling, yeah?_

He started toward the score machine with a quick affirmative shake of the head, leaning over Niall’s blonde hair to peer at the screen and then whispering something into his ear and dissolving them into giggles. I rolled my eyes, sure I didn’t want to know what they were laughing about as my eyes flicking over to Zayn, who was staring at me with the most curious expression on his face.

His eyes rooted me to the spot, holding me in place with the intensity of their stare. It wasn’t hostile, more interested, probing, and maybe the smallest bit sad. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but at that moment Liam poked him in the shoulder, pulling his gaze away from me. 

“What’ll we put you in as, Zayn?” He asked, leaning against the machine.

The dark haired boy pondered the question for a moment, any trace of his earlier intensity completely gone from his face. “DJ Malik.”

Niall appeared from behind him, putting his hands on Zayn shoulders and jumping on the other boy, legs wrapping around his waist. “DJ Malik, Fresh Prince of Mullingar reeeppppresseennt!”

Harry turned back to me. “Do you see what I have to deal with?”

I nodded, stifling a smile. “Well they are entertainment.”

A smile broke across his face, crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Well I guess we can’t get rid of them then, can we?”

xx

We’d played two games and had settled into a comfortable circle of conversation, Liam and Niall having a very intense debate over football while Danielle and Harry argued over what exactly the best part of a cake was, Zayn sliding in a comment whenever he felt the need.

I’d just finished my drink when Zayn untangled himself from Niall, standing up with a stretch. “I’m headed out for a smoke. Niall, don’t whore yourself out while I’m gone.”

Niall shot him a grin that practically exuded sunshine. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Zayneycakes.”

Zayn gave him an indulgent smile, looking up at me and curling his finger ever so slightly, a tiny gesture for me to follow him. I stood, stepping over Harry’s outstretched legs. “I’ll come with.”

Harry’s eyebrows disappeared into his curls. “You smoke?”

“Nah, just want a bit of fresh air.” I replied, giving him the partial truth. I wouldn’t mind taking a quick breather, but mostly I just wanted to know what had prompted Zayn’s look at the beginning of the night.

He nodded slowly, and I had a strong feeling he had a pretty good idea what was going on. “Don’t get lost while you’re out there, Boo Bear.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, not really as bothered by the nickname as I should have been, following Zayn outside.

It was chilly, the winter air cold against my cheeks as I dug my hands into my pockets, following Zayn away from the doors. The street was fairly quiet, a few rogue restaurants casting a warm glow onto the pavement, the last few pedestrians powerwalking to their destinations.

Zayn drew out a cigarette, sticking it between his teeth and pulling out a lighter, clicking it with his thumb until the flame caught.

“You know he’s in love with you, right?” He began, words half lost around the paper. 

I thought about a denial, or pretending I hadn’t caught the sentence, but all I couldn’t manage was a shrug, a low upset feeling twisting my stomach. I guess I hadn’t really thought about how Harry felt about me, I’d be too twisted up in my personal wonder with him. It had been almost selfish, assuming I could go on loving him like this without consequences. “I didn’t.” But I guess that was kindof a lie.

“Yes you did.” He replied, blowing a long stream of smoke through the words, his look chastising but not unfriendly.

“I guess I did.” I admitted, ignoring the rush of happiness I felt when I thought about him, how he’d started to smile more, letting me take him places, falling asleep in my arms. “But it can’t happen. He doesn’t want to love anyone.”

“You can’t help how you feel.” Zayn replied, in an annoying tone that rang with too much truth. “And it scares the shit out of him.”

“I know.” If I could have picked someone to fall in love with, it wouldn’t have been a terminal eighteen year old, but here we were. 

“I love him too, you know.” Zayn said finally, ducking his head down to inhale deeply. “And you’re good for him. You have no idea what it was like this past year, watching him fall away from everything. He was the best mate I ever had, I don’t think he even knew how special he was, and I don’t think he ever will but... He’s something else and you’re bringing him back.”

“It’s my job.” I replied, wishing I had a more adequate way to comfort him. I was good with other people’s emotions, but when they got tied to mine things got a little bit messy. 

He shook his head, a tiny bit of amusement quirking at the corners of his mouth. “This isn’t.”

I nodded, shrugging. At this point, I’d pretty much tossed any last shred of pretense to hell. Harry wasn’t just my patient anymore, but something that blurred the lines between friend and lover. “But he’s worth it, isn’t he?”

A smile grew across his face, the edges of it saturated with a sadness that looked familiar there. As hard as this whole thing had been on Harry, I had a feeling it hadn’t been too easy for Zayn either. “Of course he’s worth it.”

“It’s not really fair, is it? That it had to be him. It could have been any of us and it had to be him.” I said softly as he took another drag, scuffling my toms on the salt covered sidewalk

“I thought about that a lot when he first got diagnosed.” Zayn replied, tapping a bit of ash onto the pavement. “A lot of times I wish it had been me. Harry’s fragile, I mean he’s big and charismatic and sarcastic, but he’s like glass on the inside. It shouldn’t-” He paused, closing his eyes and pulling the cigarette nearly down to the filter. “It shouldn’t have been him.”

“It shouldn’t be anyone.” I replied, thinking of the PET scan I’d taken earlier that day, the threat of relapse hanging over my head like a dark cloud. I shouldn’t have to do this, Harry shouldn’t have to do this, Olly shouldn’t have to do this, but the powers that be remained indifferent to our suffering while we struggled to keep out heads above water.

He nodded, tossing the remainder of his cigarette to the ground and letting it smoulder on the concrete. “Back inside?” I asked, moving from where I’d been leaning against the wall.

Zayn nodded, doing the same. We stood like that for a moment, a foot or so apart, before one of us pulled the other in, his arms tangling around my shoulders and mine around his waist. He smelled like smoke, hair product, and something vaguely citrus-ey that shouldn’t really have been comforting but was. 

“I just want to make everything okay for him.” I mumbled into his shoulder, squeezing my eyes closed.

“You are.” He took a shallow breath, and I wondered just how many conversations this year Zayn had spent trying not to cry. “Thankyou.”

“I just wish I could do more.” 

“I know.” And he did, maybe better than anyone else. If there was anything Zayn understood it was the painful business of loving Harry Styles.

It was a long minute before we went back inside.

Chapter 10

 

It was past ten thirty by the time we finally packed up camp, giggly (on all our parts) and not entirely sober (on Niall, Zayn, and Danielle’s parts). I’d agreed to take Harry back to the hospital, protests of his ability to get himself home without help shot down by all involved.

We crawled into a taxi, a yawn stretching across my face as I buckled my seatbelt, curling into my jacket as Harry told the cabbie the address. 

He leaned back against the seat, giving me a lopsided smile as we started towards the hospital, Harry’s perpetual home.

“Do you ever get tired of sleeping in a hospital bed?” I asked, a question that had been bothering me for a while. A lot of terminal patients set up care outside of the hospital, so they could die in the comfort of their own home.

“It’s my bed now.” He replied, giving me a tooth filled grin.

“So you actually prefer living there?” I loved my bed, lumpy as it was, and couldn’t imagine sleeping through the fluorescent bustle of hospital life every single night. One of my favorite parts of the day was holing up in my room, pulling my covers up over my head and knowing that I was in a place the world couldn’t get me.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve had this conversation with my mother.” 

“You know I don’t think we’ve talked much about your mother yet.” I replied, only half joking.

He let out a mournful noise. “If I’d known you were going to make me discuss my feelings I’d have walked home!”

I laughed, a tired giggle that sounded far less sober than the one beer I’d had. “You? Walk home? Trip more like.”

“I’d make it eventually.” He replied petulantly, leaning against the door and shooting me a sideways glance. “My mother’s nice. She doesn’t begin to understand, but she tries.”

“Have you tried explaining it to her?” I asked, liking the way the radio buzzed in the background, the engine rumbling through my bones, the stale smell of the taxi undercut by the smell of Harry. 

He shrugged, tapping his feet against the ground. “I don’t think I really want her to know. It’s better that way.”

“Why?” I wanted to understand, but I couldn’t. It seemed to me that cutting her out only made things harder for him.

“Because it’s easier for her to think that she can help me.” He replied, his eyes on the carpet, shadows sliding across his features and making him impossible to read.

“Maybe she could if you let her.” I offered, but maybe he was right. Maybe she didn’t have to understand cancer in the intimate way the affected did, maybe he could protect her, make her believe in the possibility of buying more time for just a little bit longer.

“No.” His voice had an edge to it, defensive and raw. 

I reached a hand across the gray seat, pushing my fingers through his. _It’s okay._ “Yeah I know.” 

“So what did Zayn want to talk about?” He asked, in a classic Harry Styles subject change. 

“The metaphorical resonances of eating the icing before the cake.” I replied, letting him take the conversation back into easier territory. “He thought it was symbolic of the sweetness of childhood, followed by the more upsetting cake of adulthood. I was partial to the carpe diem theory, in which the eating of the icing first represents an understanding that you have to enjoy the best parts of life while you can, since an entire cupcake is never a certainty.”

He snorted, squeezing my hand, lightness returning to his tone. “You’re full of shit.”

“Would I lie to you?” I asked, a laugh rising up before I could tamp it back down. I didn’t used to be like this, all giggly and mooney eyed. But then, I guess I hadn’t been a lot of things before I met Harry. I hadn’t been unhappy per se, but if dying was like falling then my life was like floating. It was like I’d been drifting, waiting for something to pin me down and make me feel something.

“Maybe I just like icing you wanker.” 

“Not choosing your behaviors for their metaphorical resonances? I’m disappointed Harry, really I am.” 

He just looked at me for a moment, before pitching forward, leaning so his head rested against my shoulder. “I think I make up for my lack of metaphors with an excess of curls.”

I hmm’ed under my breath. “Maybe. I’ll have to think about that one.”

He nuzzled his head into my shoulder. “Louehhh.”

He slipped out of the seatbelt strap and lay his head into my lap, letting his eyes fall shut. A fondness curled up in my chest at his antics, my hand coming to rest in his hair. “Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

“Maybe.” He replied, not opening his eyes. “Know what else’s dangerous?”

 _Having feelings?_ “No, I don’t.”

“Malignant brain tumors.” He chuckled at that, and I wondered if maybe he’d had a bit to drink when I wasn’t looking. Though, running my fingers absently through his curls, I was fairly sure it was just Harry being Harry. 

“This was nice though.” He said after a long moment, a note of seriousness creeping into his voice. “That’s what I like about you Lou, make everything nice.”

“You’re not making much sense, Haz.” I replied, soft hair tangled around my fingers, the window cool where I rested my cheek against it. 

“I’m trying to say thankyou.” He replied, drawing out the last word, tiredness making everything a little bit blurry at the edges. We were drifting back to that place in the blanket fort, where everything was Harry and Louis and it was all okay. “For being nice.”

“Thankyou.” I replied sincerely, wanting to tell him just how much he meant to me, but afraid to push it. Zayn was right, Harry was fragile, and I couldn’t put the burden of my feelings on him. He needed me to be there for him, not to love him.

“Are you taking me somewhere else tomorrow?” He asked, poking my knee with his index finger.

“Where do you want to go?” I asked.

“New York.” He replied without hesitation. “New York, New York.”

“You going to pay for our plane tickets?” I teased, flicking him lightly on the ear as a plan formed in my mind. I couldn’t get Harry to New York, but I could possibly bring New York to Harry. Large cities were easy to bring across the Atlantic with a bit of ingenuity. 

“Yep. International travel is cheap these days.” 

“They’re practically giving flights away.” I agreed, looking up as the cab pulled to the side of the road, arriving at our destination. “We’re here, Love.”

Harry pushed himself up, shaking himself out and giving a wide yawn. “I’m tired.” 

“Sleep fights cancer.” I reminded him, opening my door as he unbuckled his seatbelt. 

“How could I forget?” He replied, climbing over me and onto the curb. He lingered in the opening, one hand on the door and the other shoved deep in his pocket. “So will I see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll pick you up at ten pm.” I smiled. “Get as much sleep as you can. If you nap through my surprise I’ll never forgive you.”

“Well I’m curious now.” He replied, a lazy smile curling across his face, the contours of his cheeks bathed in the blue light from the hospital. I waited for him to say goodbye, but he just stood there a long moment, as if something was holding him in place.

“Text me when you get back to your room.” I said, half because I wanted to make sure he got in okay, and half to fill the silence that seemed to suck all the air from the lungs.

“If I don’t die on the way of course.” He joked, shivering a bit in the February breeze.

“That’s is absolutely not funny.” I replied, trying to be disapproving but unable to hold back a smile.

“Yes it is.” He looked almost angelic standing there, as stupid as that sounds, tan trench coat half done up over his red sweater, curls big and messy, pale skin lovely in the fluorescent night. I didn’t speak, all the sentences I wanted to say bundled up in my chest and caught in my mouth. _I love you. I want to touch you. I like the way you eat cupcakes._

“Have a nice night, Louis.” He said finally, standing up straight but still holding my gaze, lovely green eyes sparkling even in the pale glow.

“Have a nice night, Harry.” I replied, watching as he turned around and disappeared into the light.

xx

11:10 Harry

Made it there without dying.  
11:11 Louis

Nice job!  
11:11 Harry

11:11, quick, make a wish!  
I stared at the screen, knowing what to wish for without even having to think about it.

11:11 Louis

Done.  
11:12 Harry

What’d you wish for?  
11:12 Louis

Well if I tell you it wont come true.  
11:12 Harry

Rude!  
11:12 Louis

Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?  
11:13 Harry

You’re the one keeping me awake.  
11:13 Louis

Goodnight Haz.  
11:13 Harry 

Goodnight Lou.  
I tucked my phone in my pocket, the truth burning a hole in the place where my heart lay. Some wishes, no matter how tightly kept, couldn’t come true.

But that didn’t keep me from wishing.

Chapter 11

 

February 25th - Day 40

When I heard the faint ringing of my cell phone, I didn’t think too much of it. I was in the shower at the time, and though my obligation to my patients was important, they could wait the five minutes it would take me to wash my hair and dry myself off. 

When I heard the house phone ring a minute or so later I didn’t spare it a second thought. It wasn’t until I came shuffling out in my grungy old sweatpants and saw Liam standing at the counter, phone in hand, looking a bit like a kicked puppy, that I remembered that I’d been expecting a very particular call today.

He looked up when I came in, doe eyes wide and comforting in a way that made the whole thing that much more painful. People didn’t look at you like that when they had good news. They didn’t.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having symptoms again?” He asked, voice soft and gentle, like he thought I was about to shatter. 

I avoided his eyes, running a hand through wet hair. “I was hoping it was nothing.” I paused, gauging his expression. “It’s not nothing, is it?”

He shook his head, lips pressed together. “No. It’s not nothing.”

I inhaled deeply, felt the air compress in my lungs before exhaling long and slow, my body deflating with the breath. “Fuck.”

“It’s going to be fine.” He said, looking like he wanted nothing more than to scoop me up in a hug and never let me go. “You’re going to make it through this.”

“I don’t know if I can.” I answered honestly, feeling as bleached and pale as the kitchen we stood in, damp feet on dirty tile and a growing emptiness in my heart. “Just tell me how bad it is.”

“Stage IV. There was other stuff too, I don’t know...” He said, stepped tentatively forward, holding a hand out like he needed me to take it as much as I needed to. I’d never seen him look so fragile, my safe strong Liam with hairline cracks tracing his skin.

“That’s pretty bad.” I replied, twisting my fingers together, a complete and utterly hopelessness building up inside me. “Its fucking absolute shit.”

He nodded his acceptance. “But you’re not going to have to do this alone, you know.” I could see how much this was hurting him, hear the tenderness in his voice, how much he wanted to be able to fix this with a hug and a hot cuppa. 

I nodded, moving so I was holding tightly to his fingers, hands strong and warm and familiar. “I know.”

He smiled a sad little half smile. “I love you, Lou.”

I nodded, my vision blurring as I collapsed into his chest, head buried in his neck. I was so small in his arms, his hands pressed on my shoulders and caving me into his breastbone, head tucked into my shoulder like he was trying to protect me from the outside world. Hugging Liam was like hugging a big teddy bear, a teddy bear that squeezed you just tight enough that you felt like nothing could get you and smelled like aftershave and detergent.

“I love you, Li.”

He ran a hand through my hair, fingers rubbing my skull in soothing circles. “We’re going to be okay. I’ll take care of you.”

I buried my head in his collarbone, letting myself hope that Liam was right, that I could make it through this. “Thankyou.”

“It’s nothing.” But standing there in the kitchen with a tumor growing in my chest it was everything to me.

xx

Harry was sitting on the side of his bed when I came in, looking positively perky considering the circumstances. He was wearing a dark green pea coat, a fluffy white scarf wrapped loose around his neck, smiling brightly as he kicked his white converse’d feet against the bedframe. 

“Had a good day I take it?” I asked, crossing over to meet him, smiling as he offered his hands to me, allowing me to pull him up in our usual shaky manner. Thirty seconds in his company and I already felt better than I had all day, though that could have been the steroids I’d taken earlier finally kicking in. I wondered how to tell him I’d relapsed. I’d been puzzling over it all day, thinking maybe I’d tell him right away and get it over with, maybe text it to him, or whisper it to him before I left. Honestly, I really didn’t want him to ever have to know.

“Oh excellent.” He replied, adjusting his scarf and pulling a pair of snowy white gloves from his pocket, sliding them onto his fingers. “I had a seizure around nine. It was really exciting.”

It required conscious effort to keep my jaw from dropping. “Christ Haz, are you serious?”

“It wasn’t bad. Just a little seizure.” He shrugged, the side of his mouth quirking up into a half smile. “Shit happens. I’m on steroids now, they’re trying to keep the tumor down before I get chemo’ed.” _Well that makes two of us, doesn’t it._

I reached to ruffle his curls, mussing them into his face and then heading for the wheelchair in the corner. “Well I’m just glad it wasn’t a big seizure.”

“I don’t know, it could have been fun.” He joked. “A bit like a impromptu roller coaster courtesy of my very favorite brain tumor.”

I bit back a laugh. “You have a very strange concept of fun, Harry.”

He headed for the chair, dropping into the blue seat with a huffing exhale. “It was pretty scary actually. I’ve had them before but you don’t really get used to it.”

“Still feel up to our surprise?” I asked, tapping my fingers on his shoulder in lieu of just scooping him into a hug and never letting go.

He turned around, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows. “Don’t be silly. I didn’t sleep all day for nothing.”

I smiled, giving him a push towards the door. “Alright, off we go then.”

Harry spent the entire way pestering me about the nature of our destination, offering to serenade me in exchange for details. Four choruses of some god awful pop song later and I had still not relented, though my stomach hurt a bit and I was practically wheezing from laughing so hard. My arms were starting to ache, but I wasn’t half as out of breath as last time, which I was taking as an impressive, if temporary, victory. I was taking what I could get by the way of victories at this point.

The stairway was only a minor hindrance, Harry holding onto the railing with a grimace that turned into a laugh as he watched me lug his chair down. “Careful, boo!”

“Easy for you to say, you’re holding onto the bar!” I teased as we finally made it down onto the concrete, the station drafty and dank in the February night. It was mostly quiet, Harry’s continued guesses echoing off the walls as we waited for our train, sitting on the bench as I tried to discreetly get enough oxygen into my veins. 

“Are we starting a drug cartel? Cocaine for cancer patients?” He asked, staring up at me with the most adorably irritating grin on his face. 

I rested a hand in his hair, running my fingers absently through his curls. I knew I should stop touching him, he was going to get suspicious at one point or another, but I couldn’t seem to keep my hands off. “Yep. Though I was thinking of going into heroin. More profit in that I think.”

He shook his head vehemently, dislodging my fingers. “But then you miss the alliteration Louis! The alliteration!”

“Well god forbid I do that!” I replied, looking up as the train rolled in, tracks screeching as it slowed down, pale yellow lights flickering.

“So are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?” He asked again as I pushed him inside, commandeering the handicapped spot near the front of the car and plopping down into the seat next to it.

“How about I read to you instead, before you make me spoil the surprise.” I replied, shooting him a look.

He stuck his tongue out at me. “There’s nothing wrong with a little hint.” I pulled out the novel, taking a moment to whack him on the knee. “And now you’re hitting a cancer patient, jesus christ Louis think about your actions.”

“I wont read to you if you’re going to be a brat.” I replied, starting to put the book away. He made an aborted diving movement, snatching the volume from my hands and cracking it open to the place we’d last stopped. 

“I’ll read to you then.” He said matter of factly, looking altogether too happy about the whole thing. His voice was as soothing as always, slow and comforting, though the words he spoke weren’t. The ride went by fairly quickly like that, the train nearly deserted sans a few drunken chavs who didn’t pay us much mind as Harry flipped through the pages. 

“This is a sad story, isn’t it?” Asked Harry as we reached our stop, handing the novel back to me. 

I unclasped my bag on the way up the stairs, the wind biting my fingers as I replaced the book, my arm hooked under one of the arms of the chair, Harry pretending to help with the other side. “I find that most good stories are.” I replied, anticipating the impending eye roll even before I got it.

“I guess we’re just a damn good story then, aren’t we.” He replied. My breath caught, something in his tone making me pause. For a moment, I thought that maybe Harry wanted this as much as I did, this stupid thing we could never really have. 

“Just call me Romeo and lets commit ritual suicide.” I replied, sure I must have imagined it, unfolding the chair on the salty pavement. Most of the snow had cleared up, but there was a thick white layer of salt covering the streets and dirty slush piled in the gutters, remnants of the storm we’d had the night of the strawberry cupcakes. I guess I was keeping track of the days by Harry now.

He barked out a laugh, sliding into the chair. “Ritual suicide? Been there, done that. Not quite as fun as you’d think.”

Harry seemed to have uncanny ability to make me unsure whether or not I wanted to laugh or cry. “I’ll take your word for it.”

It wasn’t a long way to my flat, only a winter covered street and a short elevator ride up to the forth floor. “Taking me back to your flat, eh?” He asked, raising his eyebrows like something scandalous was afoot as we entered my hall, the wheels sticking on the grungy carpet.

I flicked him on the ear. “Something like that.” 

“Put your hands out and close your eyes.” I commanded as we arrived at the door, procuring two tickets from my back pocket. They were cut from bright red cardstock, our names and the word New York printed on them in black sharpie. “The actual city was a bit out of my price range, but I did the best I could.”

Harry’s eyes slid open as I placed the paper in his outstretched hands, turning it over in his fingers so he could read it. I watched eagerly, trying to gauge his reaction, see if I had his approval. 

He didn’t move, only flicked his gaze up to me, the strangest expression on his face. A tiny smile quirked at the side of his mouth, his eyes shining like he’d trapped fireflies behind his retinas. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost call it awe. “This is okay?” I asked after a long moment.

He nodded, looking from me to the ticket in his hands, like he was sure both would disappear if he didn’t keep us in his line of sight. “Of course. This is...” He seemed at a loss for words. “This is perfect.”

It was my turn to look at the floor. “It’s nothing.” I reached for the door, hovering my hand over the buzzer. “Inside?”

He nodded, and I gave the bell a push. There was an excited scuffle from the other side before Danielle got the door, pulling it open wide. “Welcome to New York! Tickets please!”

I chuckled at her enthusiasm. Sometime around the time I got back from my impromptu doctor’s appointment to her chasing around the house with a hoover, I’d begun to wonder if she was even more excited than I was. “I told her she didn’t have to dress up, but I think she stopped listening to me around the time I told her you were coming over.” I stage whispered to Harry.

He smiled, a small giddy thing that made my insides twist into knots. “Well I think she looks lovely.”

Danielle grinned, taking control of his chair and wheeling him into the living room. “See Louis, this is why I like him better than you.”

I scoffed. “Better than me? Not likely!”

“He’s cuter than you. I’m sorry.” I stuck my tongue out at her, climbing onto the couch and patting the spot next to me for Harry to join. “Alright, Louis and I picked out some New York movies for your in-flight entertainment.”

Liam’s voice piped up from behind us, peeking his head out from the kitchenette. “I helped!”

I made a noise of disbelief, turning my head to look at him. Liam wasn’t the best actor, but he’d been doing a fairly good job of keeping our little secret. We’d discussed it, and decided that we’d give everyone one more semi-cancer free night. Danielle would have to know eventually, but we both thought it best to wait until we knew just how bad everything was going to end up. “You did not help. You distracted Dani and then suggested Chicago on the grounds that is was also an American city.” 

“I wouldn’t mind going to Chicago.” Interjected Harry, settling onto the couch next to me and propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“Well you can’t go now Harry, we’re already en route to New York.” I reminded him, slipping out of my jacket and setting it on the sofa arm.

“Of course, I should have known.” He replied with a chuckle, leaning into my shoulder.

“Choose a movie gents.” Danielle said, holding up three DVDs for us to see.

Harry pointed a lazy finger at the centermost one. “When Harry Met Sally!” He turned to me, whispering conspiratorially. “That one’s got my name in it.”

I pulled a confused face. “Your name’s Sally?”

He knocked his head against my temple. “No, it’s Harry!”

I turned, lightly bonking our foreheads together. “Is it really?”

He looked momentarily affronted, then burst into giggles. “Of course it is!”

“Your beverage this evening is hot cocoa.” Announced Liam, holding two steaming mugs in his hands and successfully interrupting our scuffle. “We’ve also got tea, but Louis yells at me when I touch his tea bags so you’re getting cocoa.”

I accepted my mug, the ceramic warm in my hands, my veins flooding with warmth for my two best friends. I really was incredibly lucky to have people like Liam and Danielle in my life. Without them, I’d probably have given up already. “Thanks, Li.”

Danielle finished putting in the movie, slipping across the living room to grasp Liam’s hand. “Enjoy your flight you two.”

“We will.” Harry replied, smiling out from underneath the scarf he hadn’t bothered to take off.

“Thanks for doing this.” I said to them, pulling a blanket up from the floor.

“We’re happy to help.” Liam replied, classic Liam warmth plain in his smile. They shuffled out of the room, arms tucked about each others’ waists, turning the light off as they went. 

As he left, I thought about the sadness behind his smile that he, just like Zayn and Niall and every single person before them, fought so hard against. That’s the problem with everyone, they don’t want anyone else to know when they’re sad, so you just end up with a lot of sad people who think they’re the only ones in the world who’ve ever felt like dying. 

I cuddled up to Harry, pulling the fleecy blanket up to combat the cool wintery air that our heating system did only a marginally good job of keeping out. The opening credits had begun to roll when Harry spoke, hot chocolate warm on his lips. 

“I think this might be better than New York.”

I pinched his arm though his sweater. “But we’re in New York, you ninny.”

He laughed softly, setting his cup on the ground and curling into my chest. “Yeah, but if we were just watching a movie on your couch that would be pretty perfect too.”

I smiled, taking one of his hands in mine. “It guess it would.”

Chapter 12

After the movie I took Harry to get pancakes. It was past midnight, but the diner remained pleasantly bustling, all warm orange light, scratched plastic tables, and vintage booths. There were some stoners gorging themselves on bacon and waffles up front, and a quieter group of teenagers nearer to us who seemed to have come from some kind of theatre performance judging from the amount of makeup on their faces, but otherwise the place was mostly couples out for a late bit of breakfast food, a category I supposed we fit into. 

“Pancakes?” Harry asked when we got through the door, following the plump waitress to a tiny booth in the back. 

“I’ll have you know pancakes are very american.” I replied, sliding onto the slick plastic seat across from him, the low hanging lamp casting his face in a cozy glow. I slid out of my coat, my skin feeling all kinds of warm.

He smiled, slipping off his jacket so he wore only a navy tee shirt, a few numbers printed across the cotton. I decided then that I really liked the cut of Harry’s shoulders, how they pulled at most of things he wore. Honestly, I just liked Harry.

“Can I get you two anything to drink?” The waitress asked, her smile big and sincere.

I returned it. “Coffee please.”

“Decaf or regular?” She asked, scrawling onto her tiny notepad.

“Regular.” I turned to Harry. “Don’t want to fall asleep on you.”

“Not like you haven’t before.” He replied easily, and suddenly all I could think about was what it would be like to be able to fall asleep next to him every night. To keep him.

“And you?” She asked Harry, looking between us with ill-concealed amusement. 

“Hot chocolate.” He replied, looking thoroughly pleased with his order. I liked how the littlest things made him happy, how he let his emotions tug him around like a ship on high seas.

She headed back to the kitchen with a nod and quick note on her pad. “It’ll be out in a minute or two.”

I turned to Harry who had an enormous grin on his face. I wondered if I was ever going to get used to those, the way his eyes lit up and dimples appeared in his cheeks. The way he smiled sometimes made me wonder if maybe Harry could see a different world than the rest of us, where the colors were just a little bit brighter and sweet things just a little more sweet. 

“What are you so happy about?” I asked, fighting a grin of my own.

His eyes flicked down towards the table then back up through his eyelashes, like he was embarrassed I’d noticed. “Well I just really like pancakes.”

“I can’t fault you on that.” I concurred, giddy with lateness and the sparkle in his eyes. I hadn’t had anything to drink but I was feeling buzzed, daring and reckless and like maybe if I kissed him he’d kiss me back.

“So Louis,” He began, placing his elbows on the table, hands clasped on the pearly white plastic. “If you knew you were going to die in four months, what would you do? Something you hadn’t done before.”

It was a sad topic, but somehow in the tiny diner it didn’t feel sad at all. With the smell of food in the air and our feet brushing under the table the tumors inside us shrunk until we couldn’t feel them anymore. 

“I’ve always wanted to go sky diving.” I replied after a quick ponder.

He scoffed at me, fingers drumming sporadically on the table. “So unoriginal! Give me something better. Something good.”

I rubbed my chin, feeling the smallest bit of stubble growing there. “How about... finish The Fault In Our Stars.”

He kicked me playfully under the table. “It’s not my fault you read slow. Give me another one.”

“Know what it’s like to be in love.” I said, and it was almost a dare. A new waitress, a girl with waistlength brown hair and soft eyes, placed our drinks on the table, but my eyes didn’t leave Harry’s even as I muttered a thankyou.

“True love is a myth designed to sell things to lonely people.” Harry replied, giving me a look over his cocoa. 

“You don’t believe that.” I replied knowingly, reaching across the table to tap a rhythm on his forearm. “You’re a closet romantic, Harry Styles.”

“I used to believe in love.” He began, giving his eyebrows a tiny jerk upwards. He wasn’t hard to read, Harry wore his emotions on his sleeve, but there was something guarded about his expression every time he talked about love. It was like he was afraid of the word itself and what it meant, like the walls he kept around his heart were much higher than those behind his eyes. “I used to believe in Santa Claus too.”

“Well I’m not going to let your blatant cynicism get in the way of my fairy tale. If I were dying I’d want to find someone I could spend the rest of my life with.” I told him, wishing he could understand the double meaning behind those words. _I know what it’s like to be dying and I want to spend whatever time left I have with you._

He shook his head. “See you think that now, but it’s different knowing that you’ll never get as much time as you want.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Haz. You’re just afraid you might actually find something you don’t want to lose.” It wasn’t that I was angry at him, but suddenly my body was thrumming with emotions I couldn’t quite shove back into the box of things I wasn’t supposed to be feeling. I wanted to make him feel the way I felt, I wanted to fall asleep next to him, to kiss him until there wasn’t a breath left in my body and then breathe in nothing but him.

“I don’t want to be a grenade.” He replied with forced coolness. And he wasn’t quite angry either, but he wanted me to let this drop, to let him think he was better off alone. I was getting too close to the barriers he’d set up for himself and I didn’t want to pull back, but I guess maybe part of loving someone is letting them do stupid things when they need to.

“Okay.” 

He nodded curtly. “Okay.”

“Tell me something you haven’t done.” I prompted, stirring some creamer into my coffee. 

The change in him was visible, the tension draining from his shoulders, playful light returning to his eyes as he gratefully took my subject change. “Well one thing I haven’t done is... You know, with someone...”

I gave him an incredulous look. “You haven’t kissed anyone?”

He adopted a rather affronted expression. “I have cancer Louis, not oral herpes. Of course I’ve kissed someone.”

I rolled my eyes, barely holding back a giggle. “Well sue me Harold, I just can’t imagine who’d want to kiss someone as hideous as yourself.”

“There are plenty of people who’d like to kiss me!” He retorted. “Look at my lips. Look at them. Who wouldn’t want to kiss these lips? No one, that’s who.”

I took an amused sip of my coffee, not passing up the chance to admire the pink curve of his mouth, the soft bow and crease at the side. “I don’t know Harry, I wouldn’t want my mouth anywhere near that.”

He made a face, kicking me under the table, a bit harder this time. “Don’t give me that sass.”

I shrugged, flipping my hair and giving him a smirk. “You love it.”

“I most certainly do not!” 

_Yeah, but I really wish you did._

xx

The night shone dark upon us, cloudy nighttime light bleeding onto the rooftop as Harry and I slipped through the rusty door and above the city. The hospital roof wasn’t all that high, but underneath the heavy gray sky it felt like we were on top of the world. It was the antithesis of the diner, trading our cozy space for a place where the world dropped away and it was only us. The city seemed to stagnate down below, the last of the night shadows packing away as the early risers crept out into the empty streets. 

I followed Harry, the lighthearted mood of the previous hours dissolving as he sat down near the ledge. He looked small so high up, curls sticking out of a soft white hat, scarf drowning him in a downy stitches. I sat next to him, cross legged on the cold ground, our knees brushing as we watched the edge of the skyline, the first rays of sunrise seeping up from the buildings. 

He really looked like a child sometimes, probing green eyes and a mouth that curved with innocence even when his words were filthy. Sometimes I had trouble believing he was eighteen, though if I were being honest, I didn’t really feel my age either. A lot of times, when I waited in bland hospital rooms or walked alone at night, I still felt like the boy who’d watched his mother cry over his diagnosis all those years ago. 

“You know when I was little, I didn’t think being adult was going to be like this.” I said, letting my voice float across the silence. 

He looked over at me, head tilting in the question he didn’t have to ask. 

“I thought I’d have half a clue what I was doing. But I really don’t.”

Harry nodded, melancholy hanging about him like a fog. “That’s okay. I like the not knowing. It makes anything seem possible.”

I guess that was really the difference between Harry’s curse and mine. Harry’s was certainty, knowing when he was going to die, knowing that eventually he’d lose his ability to think, to remember, to walk. Mine was the opposite. It seemed like my entire life was not knowing. Not knowing if I’d relapse, what would happen to me, if I could make it through this time. 

“I could do with a little certainty every once in a while.” 

He reached his hand out from inside his jacket pocket, reaching so our index fingers hooked together. And I guess it was within that moment that my assurance lay. I didn’t know how my life would end or when, but this moment was certain. This rooftop, Harry’s finger holding mine, that was certainty. 

“You know last year, they didn’t think I was going to make it to eighteen.” He said, looking out at the stained grey clouds. “But I did. I’m an _adult_.”

“That’s stupid.” I said, shaking my head as I looked at him. “A number doesn’t signify whether or not you’ve grown up or not.”

“No, I suppose not.” He rolled his lips in, looking down at our hands. He had that look on his face, the soft one where he took his sadness and wrapped it around him like he wanted to drown in its embrace. “Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.”

“Well then I guess we aren’t children anymore.” I replied, letting him pull me in. I didn’t used to feel like this, I was the sort of person who reveled in booze and sunlit days. It was only though Harry that I could see the beauty of sadness, of brokenness and how things fell to pieces. There was a beauty in the breakdown. “But I don’t feel like I’ve grown up. We’re trapped somewhere in the middle I think.”

“So what are we then?” He asked, shivering a bit in the cold, cheeks a soft pink. 

“Harry and Louis.” I said quietly, unable to look away from him. I’d lied back at the diner. I knew exactly what being in love was like. It was entrusting someone with your heart, with the blood inside your veins. It was realizing that there’s someone out there more important than yourself and knowing that nothing you could ever do for that person could ever be enough. It was a pain that never really goes away, that squeezed you up inside and made you hurt in the best way. I loved Harry Styles. I loved him like I didn’t even know I could. “We’re just Harry and Louis.”

He nodded. “Louis and Harry.” And it sounded like a promise.

I drew my eyes away from him so I could breath again, staring off into the sky’s growing pinks and golds. There’s something special about a sunrise that isn’t there when the sun tucks itself behind the horizon each night. It’s a lovely contradiction, a beginning and an end, that’s somehow more poignant in the early hours of the morning than it is at night. There’s a silence that comes with it, a sort of awe that happens as the sun pushes out the darkness with eager fingers. 

This is a beginning and an end as well. Harry and I are both ending in our own way, running out as we run towards each other. And this doesn’t last more than a few minutes, the hues fading to the light of day, but it’s beautiful. This sunrise. This Louis and Harry. Pushing out the darkness with eager fingers until the sun disappears on the horizon. It’s beautiful while it lasts. 

“Harry?” And I don’t mean to say it, but maybe it’s time.

He hums in response, looking over at me with sharp green eyes.

And I don’t have a response for him, nothing I can say to tell him what I mean, how I feel. The moment hangs there in the silence, like the sky has taken an enormous breath of air and is holding it, waiting, waiting. I can see the questions in his gaze, and I can’t answer them, because I don’t know how. I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t know what I’m doing.

“Louis?”

I’m shaking my head slowly, and my free hand doesn’t know what to do with itself, so I take his, gloves soft against my frigid fingers. “Dont- Just, just don’t say anything.”

He opens his mouth ever so slightly, like he’s looking for words he can’t find, eyes green and piercing and swallowing me in their depths. I lean forward, less of my own accord and more of the slow magnetic pull of Harry that draws me to him, lean so our noses are brushing, cold in the morning air.

It’s a slow kiss, his lips wet and chill as they fold into mine, our hands clasped so tight as our mouths meet. He’s warm, hot against the world outside and I kiss him, kiss him like through it I can tell him everything I’ve forgotten how to put in to words.

And for one sweet second he kisses me back, eyes falling shut like he’s forgotten how to keep them open, leaning into me like maybe he feels that magnetic pull too. I can taste him, soft and sweet and vaguely of syrup and chocolate.

For a moment it’s heaven, the Harry shaped place in my heart filling with something like hope, like happiness. And then he falls back, hands wrenching from mine like I’ve burned him, eyes wild and nearly scared. 

The next bit happens like a movie, choppy and cold.

“No.” He says softly, and for a moment I think he’s going to cry. Maybe he is. “I can’t do this to you.”

He stands slowly, walking with stumbling backwards steps and I move to follow him, standing on legs that haven’t quite remembered how to work. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t!” He says, voice approaching hysteria. “I’m done being selfish! I’m not going to hurt you!” I take a step forward, only to have him blunder backwards again, wrapping himself in his coat like the fabric could comfort him. “Don’t you hear a fucking word I say? Love hurts people! It fucking hurts everyone!”

And it’s that not-quite-anger again, boiling up inside my chest and making his words sting that much more, and I’m yelling back at him, tears stinging my eyes and freezing against my lashes. “So you love me then?!”

“I don’t love you!” He screams back, suddenly shrieking across the roof, voice breaking on the last word like he can shove me back with sheer volume. He’s running off then, feet falling over each other as he barely reaches the door, reckless.

“You’re going to fall!” I call out to him, but he’s already slammed it shut, leaving me alone on the rooftop.

“ _” It’s a whisper as I walk across and through the door, feet tapping quietly on the linoleum as I follow him._

It’s eight fifty three when I leave the hospital.

I haven’t found him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou for all the kudos and comments and such, you guys are the best. (:


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Harry tops which I know will upset some of you frankly it upset me okay louis was supposed to top but evidently I have actually no control over my characters. (update: i am no longer apologizing for toppy harry)

February 28th - Day 43

By our next appointment, I had sent him six text messages. He hadn’t responded once. 

2/26 11:42 am Louis

I’m sorry about what I did. We can forget it ever happened.  
2/26 5:43 pm Louis

Please respond, I know you’re angry but we need to talk about this.  
2/27 2:34 pm Louis

Just let me know you’re getting these, that you at least know that I’m sorry.  
2/27 3:36 pm Louis

I’m so sorry.  
2/28 1:57 am Louis

I need you.  
2/28 1:59 am Louis

I’m not going to apologize for that.  
xx

Walking up to his hospital room that night was easily one of the scariest things I’d ever done. I could feel my pulse in my ears, hands shaking just the littlest bit no matter how much I tried to steady them. 

I’d spent a solid hour that afternoon ripping apart my closet to try and find something to wear, in the end settling for some thin black pants and a completely unspectacular blue button down, which at the moment coincided quite well with my overall outlook on life. 

My red toms slipped a bit on the tile, fingers gripping the strap of my messenger bag as I walked down the corridor. I had no idea what would greet me on the other side of the door and part of me really wanted to turn right back around and head home, only overpowered by the much larger and more powerful part of me that had spent three sleepless nights dreaming of green eyes and pink lips.

I was a wreck, cancer and lack of sleep drawing purple underneath my eyes and making my thoughts swim. Liam helped, in the ways he could, and Danielle once we told her, but I needed Harry. I needed the only person I knew who could take my hand and make everything feel okay, and I might have lost him for good.

I lingered two paces from his doorway for a long moment, letting myself wait in the last bit of uncertainty. There was a voice I didn’t recognize from within, female and a bit coarse. His mum maybe?

I took a deep breath and crossed the space to his doorway, taking the final step into the room and surveying the scene before me with no small amount of dread. It was January all over again, Harry with his blankets up to his waist, computer on his lap, head sunk into a pile of pillows. He didn’t notice me at first, eyes locked blankly on the woman like he was looking but didn’t really see her. She was saying something to him with a bright urgent tilt to her voice and he just stared, an emptiness in his gaze that hurt more than it should have.

She turned to me, face lighting up as she saw me. “Hi, are you one of Harry’s friends? I’m Caroline, his new therapist.”

If there was anything I could compare that feeling to, I guess it would be getting punched in the stomach. Hard. The air seemed to stream from my lungs, leaving me breathless and faint, and for a beat I wasn’t sure my knees were going to support me. After what seemed like eons, I finally managed words. “I’m Louis Tomlinson, his, well. His therapist.”

Her expression crumpled. “Oh didn’t they tell you I was going to be coming in from now on? They said they’d call, I thought it was all taken care of...”

“No,” I replied through tight lips, feeling Harry’s gaze on me but unable to turn and face him. “They didn’t tell me.”

She looked from me to him with concern in her eyes, folding and unfolding her hands on her lap. She couldn’t be impervious to the tension in the room, how I couldn’t look at him, how he couldn’t stop looking at me. For a second I felt bad for her, until I remembered it was her sitting in my chair and her claiming a title to which she held no claim.

“Well this will be fun.” She said after an extended pause, trying to make light of the dour mood. “There’s no harm on having a sit in guest. The nurses told me you two are very close, I’m sure you could help me out a bit.”

I was tempted, permission to sit here and soak in Harry’s company for an hour was an attractive offer, but I couldn’t. I had to tell him everything I hadn’t been able to at the rooftop. I’d already reached the point of no return, there was no reason to hide how I felt anymore. Everything had turned to shit, and if I couldn’t have him I just wanted him to know. I shook my head. “I just need to tell him something. Then I’ll be gone.”

She looked uncertain, but nodded, obviously trying to accommodate what was quickly turning into a colossal mess. “That’s perfectly fine, right Harry?”

I made myself meet his eyes then, his boiling like angry seas, the dark and dangerous depths of him clawing up to the surface. It hurt to see him like that, harsh and unforgiving, no comfort in his gaze. I just wanted him back, it was the only option.

For a moment I thought he was going to say no, but when he opened his mouth to speak, a quiet ‘it’s fine’ fell from his lips. There was wounded quality to his words, the soft sadness underneath them hidden but not out of sight. I’d done this, and I wasn’t all that sure I could fix it. 

“I want you to know I never meant to do this.” I began, fiddling with my hands as I spoke, unable to break his gaze but feeling so helpless underneath it. “You weren’t supposed to be special to me. I wasn’t supposed to need you.”

“You said once that dying was like falling and I understand what you mean now. It’s like you’re rocketing towards a conclusion and you can’t stop yourself, you can only fall and wait for your body to hit the bottom. But I guess if I’m going to fall for you I want all the time I can have. I want to fall with you and when we hit the ground I want to hit it right beside you.”

“I don’t want you to be my green light on the dock, the dream that lays just out my grasp until it’s not there for me to grasp anymore. I know you think you’re saving me by pushing me away, but it’s too late for that.”

My eyes were swimming, the words tumbling out of my mouth easily now, a desperate plea for the only thing I’d ever really wanted. “I want every day you can give me. I want your good days and your bad days and the days when you’ve forgotten who I am. You think you can save me by cutting me out but it’s too late for that. I need you so much, more than you need me Harry.”

“Before I met you, I was floating, I didn’t know what I was doing or where I was going and you gave me something and it is like flying when I’m with you. You are my certainty and I- I love you.”

I came to a halting stop, realizing what I’d said after it’d come out of my mouth. It was true, it had always been true, and now it was hanging between us.

I couldn’t read his expression, oceans of abstract emotion swirling through his gaze as he stared at me like I was the only thing anchoring him to this Earth. He looked so broken there, limbs awkward under thin sheets and curls askew, but I couldn’t hold his pieces together the way I wanted to, run my fingers down his back until he stopped shaking like that. I’d only be able to think if he’d stop shaking.

“You can’t.” He began, sounding like he was going to be sick. “You can’t love me. You think you can but you can’t!” God I hated when he yelled at me, the way his voice broke with the volume and desperation. It was the same stupid argument of time, over and over again, like this time he’d be able to convince me I didn’t need him. “I’ve got one foot in a boat halfway across the fucking river Styx!”

“Well then I guess we’re in the same boat then.”

I turned to Caroline, who was looking at me with a stunned mixture of confusion and something that came close to embarrassment. She opened her mouth to speak, as if there was anything she could even say, but I shook my head, looking down at my hands as I spoke my final piece. “Call me please. Or text me. Something.” I turned, facing the door but unable to leave, even as every molecule in my body fought to get out of this fucking room. “And just, just have a nice night.”

His voice came from behind me, soft and uncertain. “Louis?”

But I didn’t turn as I walked out, head held high, if only so the tears in my eyes wouldn’t spill down my cheeks.

Chapter 14

 

I was on the couch when he called me, caught in a reality television induced delirium somewhere between sleep and awake. I scrabbled for my phone, trying not to get my hopes up as I read the name on the screen with blurry eyes. 

So he had decided to call after all.

I flipped open my phone, placing to it my ear. I opened my mouth to greet him, but if felt like my words were caught in my throat, sticky like peanut butter and impossible to get out. I almost didn’t want to know what he had to say, if it was a denial or an affirmation. I’d never thought of the future as a scary place before, but I would be completely content to stay in this moment forever, the television humming in the background, Harry’s breath on the line. Of course I wanted to know if he’d stopped pretending, if he’d say he loved me too, but there was always that niggling doubt that crept under my skin like a parasite.

He spoke first, voice soft and uncertain, a mirror of what he’d said at the hospital. “Louis?”

“Yeah Harry?” I couldn’t see much, the darkness and my lack of glasses making the room fuzzy. I could almost pretend I was in the hospital with him, that if I reached out I could tangle his fingers in mine.

“I wanted to call you earlier but I didn’t know what to say.” He said, voice barely more than a whisper. I remembered the first time he’d called me, before I knew about the cancer, before he was special to me, before the kiss. How had the weeks slipped by so quickly?

He seemed to take my silence as an invitation to keep going. “But you already know what I have to say, don’t you? You already know.”

I made a sleepy noise. “I guess I do.” 

“So then I thought maybe if I called you then I’d know what to say,” He continued in his lazy drawling voice, the low tones working their way through the dark. “But I still really don’t. I still can’t tell you what you mean to me, because I’ve practiced it to myself about ninety times and nothing I say sounds right at all.”

“Well that’s kindof bollocks isn’t it.” I observed, feeling as if he wasn’t quite finished.

“It kindof is.” He agreed, the smallest bit of self-deprecation slipping into his tone. “But I did realize something. I always thought I was being selfish by letting you in, but I’ve really been more selfish by pushing you away, haven’t I?”

I nodded, my whole body feeling drunk on drowsiness and the soft cadence of Harry’s voice. “You could certainly say that.”

“I guess I didn’t believe you could ever need me as much as I need you.” He admitted finally, letting out a soft breath into the receiver. 

“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” I replied, unable to keep a smile off my face. Harry wasn’t modest, he just had literally no idea how exceptional he was.

“It kindof is, isn’t it?” He replied, sounding a bit sheepish.

“It is.”

There was a smile silence, in which I readjusted, wrapping the blankets tighter around me and turning the tellie down until it was no more than a low mutter. “Louis?”

“Yeah Haz?” I smiled, sensing the next words on his lips before he spoke them.

“I love you.”

“I know,” then, “I love you too.”

He let out a contented sigh. “I’m going to sleep now.”

“Me too.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

I let my eyes slip closed, a tiny smile working his way across my face as I let myself process what has just happened. “Don’t hang up.”

He let out a soft chuckle, broken by the rusting of sheets. “I wasn’t going to.”

And so I fell asleep to the soft sound of his breathing, a warm feeling curled deep in my chest. 

xx

11:46 Harry

I want to see you  
12:01 Louis

I can be there by eight thirty.  
12:03 Harry

So late! You cheating on me already?  
12:05 Louis

She’s a stunner, I couldn’t resist.

12:06 Harry

Just as long as you love me best.  
12:06 Louis

That’s a given.  
12:07 Harry

See you soon xx  
12:07 Louis

Okay xx  
xx

It was a strange kind of deja vu walking up to his room, nerves and excitement twisting in my stomach as I took the elevator up to his floor, rocking up and down on the balls of my feet. I was wearing my favorite red pants, hands deep in the pockets of a navy hoodie as I strode down the hall grinning like an idiot.

I could feel my heartbeats sharp and fast in my chest, memories of his phone call giving me eager jitters. I wondered vaguely if everyone felt like this, wound up all tight like their organs were about to jump out of their skin. When I was little I used to think a lot about the sort of person I’d fall in love with, what they’d look like, how they’d talk, but none of my childish fantasies could have predicted the way it would feel, how intoxicating it was to be tied to another person.

If I thought about it, being in love with someone who fancied you back was a strange kind of safety, even if sometimes it felt quite the opposite. In a world where everyone seemed so lonely, loving someone was putting down an anchor in a storm. It was someone to hold onto as you fell.

I slipped through his door, finding him intwined in his covers and sound asleep, a soft snore lifting from his parted lips. My whole chest contracted with a painful kind of fondness. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to hold him to me and whisper promises into his eyelids. 

I shucked my shoes off, pulling the covers back and climbing in behind him, sliding my arm around his waist and pressing my nose to the cotton of his shirt. 

He stirred beneath me, wiggling lazily until he we faced each other, our noses nearly brushing as he blinked himself awake. His hair was a mess, hanging down into his eyes and across his face, and I brushed it back, pressing a tentative kiss to his forehead. I thought about worrying if I’d crossed a line, but it wasn’t like I could really help myself.

He only smiled, nudging his nose against mine. “Hi.”

“Good morning, sunshine.” I replied, resting my hand on his hip, a smile alighting on my face. The places where he was pushed against me felt warm and comfortable while also making it just a little bit harder to breath in a way that was not entirely cancer related.

“Can I ask you a favor?” He asked, the words practically spoken into my mouth, breath puffing warm onto my lips. I wondered briefly if he was ever going to let me kiss him.

“If it’s to move, then no.” I replied, nearly going cross eyed as I tried to hold his gaze. His hand traveled lazily down my shoulderblade, fingers moving absently like he wasn’t entirely aware he was even doing it.

“It is kinda. I-” He paused, eyes flicking downwards for a beat. “I want to spend the night at your place. If that’s okay.”

“Feeling a bit bold this evening aren’t we?”

He blushed, burying his head in my shoulder as I laughed at him. “I just want to spend a night in a real bed.” He replied into the fabric of my hoodie.

“Don’t you have a home for that sort of thing?”

He sunk his teeth briefly into my shoulder, giggling as I jolted at the contact. “But my house has a sister and mother. Your house has you.”

“Well I guess I can’t argue with that kind of logic.” I relented, as if I wouldn’t do anything he asked of me. “Will you be okay for the night?” I asked, trying not put too much worry in my tone. One of the worst things about cancer was watching everyone worry over you like you were something breakable. The other worst thing is that it’s impossible not to worry about the people you love, because, well, you love them.

He pulled back, giving me a look. “You know if you’re going to start mothering me I’m going to have to bring up the subject you’re doing a stellar job of not talking about.”

I bit my lip, the knowledge that eventually we’d have to have that conversation taking a significant bite out of my good mood. “Not now. I don’t want to ruin this.”

“We are going to have to talk about it eventually.” He repeated, pursing his lips at me.

I took my turn at burying my head in his shoulder. “I know. Later tonight?”

“Couldn’t we just talk about it now?” He asked, his tone turning serious. “I know you don’t want to but...” He paused, running his thumb across my cheek. “Well. I feel absurdly hypocritical all of a sudden.”

“Sucks to care, doesn’t it?” I observed with a tiny little smile.

“I’d say it’s pretty worth it.” He replied, holding my gaze with an intensity that made me more than a little squirmy. “You’re really lovely, you know?”

I squeezed my eyes shut at the compliment and ducked my chin into my collarbone, feeling my cheeks stain pink. “You really think that?”

He smiled, cheeks dimpling just the littlest bit, his hand fluttering across my jawline. “Of course I do.”

I guess the kiss afterwards was kindof inevitable.

He caught my lips in his, smiling against my mouth as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pulling him into me as he rested his hands on my waist. It was just like I remembered, soft and sweet, but this time he didn’t pull back, lips moving slowly against mine.

My hands crept up from his neck, twisting in his curls, fingers running across the hard line of his skull. I flicked my eyes open to catch a quick glimpse of him, only to find his eyes on me, a small gasp of air escaping my lips before I could stop it.

“Sorry.” He murmured, pulling back ever so slightly, not sounding the least bit remorseful. “I just can’t stop looking at you.”

“You know you were saying something about going back to my place?” I offered, thinking about trying to get out of bed but tremendously unwilling to leave Harry’s arms. 

He smirked, pecking me quickly on the lips. “I like the way you think.”

I grabbed his hands, intertwining them with mine and tugging us both into a standing position, not having to let go of him in the slightest. We tracked down the dark haired nurse who often checked up on Harry and let her know we’d be leaving for a night, garnering ourselves a giggle and raised eyebrow as we told her not to worry. 

We decided to forgo the wheelchair this time. Harry was insisting that he was feeling especially stable today, and I wasn’t exactly going to protest him hanging onto my waist the entire trip.

We made it all the way to my building without incident, and were in no time warming our hands in the hallway as I tried to get my frozen fingers to operate my keys.

“So will your roommate mind us taking over the flat?” He asked, pressing the cold tip of his nose into my neck and causing me to once again miss the lock.

“He’s out, probably won’t be back until late. Dani likes to drag Liam out dancing.” I replied, realizing halfway through the implications of Harry and an empty apartment. 

“So we have the place to ourselves then?” He asked, running his rather distracting fingers around my waist, stopping to rest on my stomach. “Scandalous.”

“Oh quit it.” I chastised, finally managing to get the key in the lock. “You’re making me sound like a creepy old man.”

“You’re the one who’s ushering me into your empty apartment.” He repeated, resting his chin on my shoulder and sagging against me as I pushed the door open.

“You’re the one who asked me to, maybe you’re the pervert here.” I taunted, not bothering to untangle myself from his hands as we slipped through the door. I reached for the light, only to have his hand catch my wrist. 

“I really wouldn’t bother with lights.”

I raised an eyebrow, side-eying him in the shadowy darkness of the apartment. It was quiet, the window by the dining table sending lazy rays of twilight inside, casting the place in a fuzzy blue. “You wouldn’t?”

He shook his head, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “Nah.”

I rested a hand on his chest, feeling firm muscle underneath the cotton as I pushed him backwards, his shoulders hitting the wall with a soft thump. “If you insist.”

His nervous smile warped into a lazy smirk as he pulled me along with him. His fingers found the hem of my hoodie, pulling the fleece up over my head and taking my tee shirt with it. He ran his fingers down the bare skin of my back, a shiver creeping through me before I could fight it down.

“You know,” He whispered in my ear, turning so I was boxed between him and the wall. “Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you get to push me around.”

I fought down the urge to squirm, his voice deep and ragged in my ear. I slid my hand under his tee shirt in retaliation, ghosting my fingers across the soft skin of his hip, tracing the sharp line of the bone until I reached the waistband of his pants. “I really think it does.”

He reached down, stopping my hands with one of his own, his breath hissing out through clenched teeth. “You’re a tease aren’t you?” He asked, pressed up against me so I was completely sandwiched between him and the wall, the plaster cool against my skin. “And I bet you get away with it.”

I lifted up to reach his mouth, stealing a kiss and then sliding back down, threading my fingers through his belt loops and jerking him against me. “Sometimes I do.”

“Not all the time though.” He murmured, dark eyes meeting mine, a hand trailing up my arm, my neck, the curve of my jaw up to my hairline. “I’d bet a lot of people just let you. They let you be a tease. But what’s the fun in that?” He ran his fingers back through my hair, tangling in the strands and pulling downwards so my head tipped back.

I gasped at the sudden movement, my eyes snapping closed as he let his hand slip from my hair, a dirty smirk on his face. “Who’s the tease now?” I asked, sounding a bit breathless even to my own ears.

“I’m not teasing you.” He replied innocently. “Is there something you wanted me to do?”

“Don’t ask me questions like that.” I replied, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down into a kiss, nearly able to taste smugness on his tongue. I worked at his shirt, pulling it upwards until he took over, taking it up over his head. He tossed it in the general direction of the living room and returned his mouth to mine, his larger body enveloping me as he pressed us up against the wall.

My hands traveled greedily across his back, fingers finding sharp shoulder blades, nails digging into his skin as he pushed a leg between mine. My head knocked back against the wall as he kissed down my jaw, sucking red marks to my neck. 

I clutched at him, rolling my hips as I tried not to come apart right here in the hallway. Somehow when he said virgin I was expecting a little bit less prowess. Not that I was complaining.

“Put your arms around my neck.” He demanded huskily, and I obliged, wrapping my arms around tight. Before I could fully process what he was doing, his hands were on my thighs and I was being lifted, my heels hooking near the small of his back.

“Which one’s your room?” He asked between messy kisses on the way past the couch.

I scrambled for my door with one hand, keeping the other locked firmly around his neck as we stumbled inside. My already restricting pants were far too tight in all the wrong areas, the slight friction from being carried forcing me to grit my teeth together to fight back a moan. 

He dumped me on the bed then crawled on top of me, kissing me with an enthusiasm that made it distinctly harder to get my top button undone. He rutted slowly against my thigh, his own hard cock sending a jolt to my own. “Fucking jesus Harry let-” I gasped as his hands found my hair, tugging gently through it. “Let me get my fucking jeans off.”

He came up for air, hanging over me as I fumbled with my zipper, his breathing just as ragged as mine. His pupils were blown wide, curls hanging down into my face, a wicked tilt to his mouth.

I finally managed to get my trousers down to my knees, tugging Harry back down onto me, choking down a moan as our bodies collided. I gripped his biceps, rolling us over so I was on top as I kicked my jeans completely off.

“I thought you-” He began haltingly, his words half gasped in the semi-darkness as I palmed him through the fabric, thrusting his hips up into my hand. “Were going to- let me hold you down?”

“We’ve got all night, haven’t we?” I replied, feeling the delicious rush of control flow through my body as I undid his pants, pressing kisses to his stomach as he writhed beneath me.

He didn’t respond as I pulled his jeans down, taking his boxers with them so he was completely exposed to the cool air of the apartment. I blew on the tip, a fiendish grin curling across my face as he fisted the sheets, a low moan escaping his lips.

“I guess you were right, Harry. I am a tease.” I said, tonguing around the head before pulling back off. 

“I fucking hate you.” He gasped out, eyes squeezed shut, knuckles white and muscles tensed, forehead slick with sweat. 

“No you don’t.” I wrapped my hand slowly around the base, working my fingers slowly. “God you’re gorgeous.” And then I took him into my mouth, sliding my tongue in lazy circles as I sucked.

His hips stuttered as he tried to keep himself still, fighting the urge to thrust upwards with breathy gasps that echoed in the quiet room. I was painfully hard, but I kept my hands on Harry, focusing on bringing him as close as I could.

I could feel his hip movements become more erratic, the taste of precum salty-sweet in my mouth, and I pulled off, delighting in his disappointed whimper. I crawled up over him, letting his cock drag across my chest as I moved to reclaim his lips with mine.

He pulled me down, licking into my mouth hungrily as he rolled us over, regaining his earlier position. I let him, enjoying the unfamiliar thrill of letting him take charge, of allowing myself to shatter under his hands. 

I pulled out of the kiss, letting him suck bruises onto the soft skin of my collarbone. “How far is-” He bit down, the last word sliding into a low noise of approval. “This going to go?”

He paused his ministrations, moving back up so our eyes met, his wide and serious. “How far will you let me go?”

I rolled my hips up against his, craving the friction of a few moments ago. “I just-” Another roll, punctuated by a gasp as he ground down against me. “Don’t want you to do anything you’d - fuck - regret in the morning.” 

He snickered against my skin. “Do you honestly think I’m going to regret this in the morning?”

I let any worries I had go, ending the conversation by pulling his face back up to mine and kissing him hard, hands tangled in his hair. He kissed back with equal enthusiasm, large hands mapping my hips and working at the elastic of my boxers, pushing them down around my knees. I could feel his skin hot against mine, the slow rhythm of his hips bringing me closer and closer. 

“Haz-” I murmured, my words sliding into gasps as I began to lose coherency. “I’m nearly-”

He bit down on my bottom lip, not letting me finish my sentence, fingers rough like he wanted to tear me up and consume me. There was nothing casual about the way my fingers raked through his curls, his mouth sucking bruises onto my tanned skin that wouldn’t fade for days. It was dark; playful flirting turned into something much more desperate, a need to swallow him up, to let him swallow me.

He threaded a hand down between us, pushing two fingers into me, scissoring me open before I’d really had a chance to adjust. I arched off the bed, letting out a low moan, fingernails scratching red trails across his back. 

“ _You’re so beautiful like this._ ” He whispered, adding a third finger and pushing deep inside me. My whole body seemed to be tingling, an electric sensation that made me lightheaded, breath coming in short hitching inhales. I couldn’t speak, my mouth open as I sucked in air when all I could breathe in was Harry, his scent, the sweat on his skin all more precious than oxygen.

“Turn over.” He grated out, pushing me so I was face down on the bed, my body pliant in his arms. My cock was pressed between my stomach and the blankets but I didn’t dare reach for it, instead bracing myself against the covers, reaching underneath my pillows to wrap my hands in the sheets. 

I could feel him line himself up, the slow burn as he pushed himself in just a little too fast, eagerness overpowering the desire to be gentle. We lay there for a long moment, his breath hot on my neck as I adjusted to the feel of him inside me, before he started to move, slow deep thrusts that had me biting the covers to stay quiet.

“Haz please- I-” His skin was slick where his chest slipped against my back, pressing messy kisses against my neck, murmuring love against my skin.

He sped up his thrusts, his hands reaching up to find mine, fingers meshing with my own and holding on so tight it almost hurt as he pounded into me. He pulled my right hand down, sliding it between me and the sheets, fisting my cock in his hand and mine, jerking me off. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep a handle on a reality that seemed all too quick to let me slip away. I was swimming in sheets and Harry, in his hands on me and the feeling of him filling me up. I could feel his thrusts grow slightly irregular, breaths quicker, his movements growing rougher until I couldn’t hold on any longer, spilling onto the sheets and my stomach, stroking myself through while Harry’s hand slid to my hip. 

His fingers painted bruises on my flesh, the knuckles of his other hand white as he clutched mine, an aborted cry escaping his lips as he came, rocking into me a few more times until he was completely spent. He lay on top of me, open mouthed kisses on my shoulder blades as he pulled out, turning me over and running his fingers down my heaving chest.

I watched him through glassy eyes, the light from the window ghosting over dark eyes and swollen lips, the pink tinge of his cheeks barely visible. My whole body tingled with release, limbs light and nearly buoyant as I reached out for him, fingers running down the flex of his bicep.

He smiled down at me as he sunk down to my level, laying on the sheets beside me with a contented sigh. He reached out, ghosting a long finger across my ribcage, bringing a trail of goosebumps after it. 

“Are you dying?” He asked, scooting over so the sides of our bodies brushed. 

I pressed a kiss to his hair, curling a hand up to stroke the soft skin on the back of his neck. “Have been for years.”

He made a displeased noise in the back of his throat. “Are you dying like I’m dying?”

I reached out in the darkness for him, turning so I was on my side and pulling his arms around my stomach. He fit himself around me, resting his chin on my shoulder so the entirety of our bodies lay skin to skin. “I might be.”

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, his words echoing through me. They seemed to hold an infinite meaning inside them, an apology that it happened, that it happened to me, that he couldn’t save me, that people die. That he was dying too.

“Stage IV Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. In my lungs. Bones. Who knows where else.” I said, the normal hollow feeling I associated with those words never coming. In a moment of insanity I thought that maybe Harry could cure more than the emptiness. 

He pressed more kisses to my neck, lips never seeming to get tired of the taste of my skin. “I don’t want to live in a world without you.”

I lifted his hand to my mouth, pressing my lips to his palms. “You aren’t going to have to.”

“Good.” His breath hitched ever so slightly, clutching me tightly like he could protect me from anything, except maybe the poison that grew inside my own body. He spoke softly, his voice pleading. “You have to promise to wait me out, okay Louis? Don’t go before me, don’t leave me alone.” 

“I won’t leave you.” I promised, turning in his grip so I could meet his eyes, big and green and so close I could almost fall into them. “Even when you forget why you ever wanted me to stay.”

He nodded, sealing his lips against mine and pressing promises between our mouths. “You get me forever, you know.” He replied, words soft and sure. “Even after our four months. I’ll wait for you wherever we end up, and we’ll see each other soon.”

“You believe in heaven?” I asked, one arm threading around his neck, the other pressed to his heart. Laying there, I’d never wanted a pearly white forever more. I’d always accepted death in all its unfairness, accepted that things end and sometimes there’s nothing else, but in Harry’s arms I wanted more time than any life could ever give me.

He seemed to consider the question for a moment. “I don’t know, I believe in something. It can’t all just end, can it? Where would it all go?”

“I don’t know.” I replied, tucking my head against his neck. “But I’ll follow you there.”

“Promise?” He asked, a quiet insecurity in his voice, like he wasn’t sure of my answer after all this time. 

I let out a sigh, my chin resting in his shoulder. “You know I’d promise you the stars if you asked me to.”

“I’d rather have you.” He whispered.

I closed my eyes, feelings his heart beating a slow rhythm in his chest, a low echo of mine. “I’m all I can give.”

He was silent, the only sound the muted scuffling of the other tenants and the hum of the heater. I’d nearly slipped into sleep when he finally replied, the sentence barely more than a vibration between us. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

And so we drifted into unconsciousness, the tandem beating of our hearts taking us just that much close to the unknown.

Chapter 15

 

March 1st - Day 45

When I woke up at 5:30 drenched in sweat, it was Harry that kissed my damp forehead and led me to the bathroom, sitting on the tile as I sat in the tub, silent but for the drumming of hot water on the porcelain.

xx

Post shower, Harry and I took a quick trip to my room for clothes, him tugging on a pair of my joggers and a cozy white jumper I’d had forever, while I opted for a tee shirt and sweats. It was quiet in the apartment, the stagnant feel of morning hanging chilly in the air. Danielle and Liam wouldn’t be up for a half an hour or so, as she had someone else working until seven thirty and he didn’t have classes until eight.

Neither Harry or I spoke, a hush descending over us as we puttered about the kitchen. I reached into the cabinet for mugs and tea bags, setting them on the counter as Harry turned on the kettle. He was lovely in the mornings, all mussed curls and hooded eyes, lips that hovered on a contented half smile.

I perched on the counter, sticking my feet on the groove of a drawer and watching him poke around in the cupboards. I reached out when he got close enough and wrapped my fingers around his wrist, tugging him into me. 

He came easily, falling pliant into the space between my legs and nuzzling his face into my chest, arms wrapping around my waist. Putting my elbows on his shoulders, I rested my chin on his head, savoring the delicious intimacy of holding him. 

There’s a magic in being awake when no one else is, in moving slowly through the quiet, letting it go on around you undisturbed. There was magic in a lot of things, in sunrises and snow and blanket forts, but it had taken Harry for me to notice. Maybe there was magic in him too.

It was odd how time went as we stood there, barely a moment passing before the kettle began it’s lazy whistling, steam rising from the top in slow curls. I pressed a kiss to Harry’s head, sliding down off the counter and into his embrace. 

“ _Kettle._ ” I murmured, leaving him to lean up against the cabinets as I poured the tea, the bubbling sound of water on teabags filling the tiny kitchen. 

He slipped up behind me, sliding his hands onto my hips and kissing the place where my shoulder met my neck. “Love you.” He breathed against my skin, neither of us quite making the leap to full sentences yet.

I hummed in response, turning to loop my own arms around his waist, liking how it felt under my fingers. “ _Don’t move._ ” I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder as he did the same to me, our bodies pressed together in the early morning glow.

I clung to him, sinking into how the fear that lived in my bones seemed to drift away as his fingers crept under my tee shirt, massaging slow circles onto my skin. The jumper was warm on my cheek, tile cool and sticky under my feet, and Harry soft in my arms. I thought maybe if you could catch moments and keep them in jars, I’d keep this one someplace special.

“I think tea’s ready.” He said, blinking tiredness from his eyes and slipping out of my grasp to turn on the overhead lamp, an old square installation that cast the kitchen in fuzzy orange light, pushing out the london gray.

I nodded, pulling the teabags out with my fingers and tossing them in the bin. He appeared at my side with the milk, splashing a bit in his mug before handing it to me, a smile flitting across his face as I did the same. 

“I like mornings with you.” I said quietly, taking my mug, a big green thing with a heavy handle and moving to stand by the microwave, leaning back against the counter.

“Me too.” He agreed, heading for the wall opposite so we were standing face to face, separated by three feet of linoleum, the too-short joggers revealing a thin strip of ankle as he leaned against the wall.

“This is the worst bit.” I continued, taking a sip from my mug. “Because I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life and I can’t.”

“I want to watch you make tea and kiss the morning out of your eyes.” He replied, taking a sip of his own.

“I want to get our own flat and bother you while you make dinner.” I replied, some sentimental place in my chest filling up. It would be tiny, just enough space for the two of us, with the nicest kitchen we could afford, and he’d cook nights when he wasn’t too busy. It’d be something easy, like spaghetti, and I’d sit on the counter and watch as he put the noodles in the pot and heated the sauce. Then we’d put on the radio and sing as we waited for the pot to boil, exchanging kisses between the verses.

“I want to celebrate my next birthday with you. Danielle could make me a cake, and we’d invite everyone over and I wouldn’t have anything left to wish for.” He replied, bringing images of us all huddled around a table, some huge frosting covered monstrosity set in the middle. Niall and Zayn would be holding hands, Dani and Liam too, singing off key as the candlelight bounced off our faces, wax dripping down the candles.

“I want to take you to real New York, and kiss you in Times Square.” I replied, imaging the city lights as I wrapped my fingers around my mug, letting the liquid heat my fingers. 

“I can’t believe I’ve only known you two months.” He said, exhaling long and slow, eyes flicking down to the floor. “It feels like I’ve known you forever.”

“I know what you mean.” My gaze traveled to my bare feet, and the worn hem of my sweats. “When I met you, I didn’t think I needed someone, but I really don’t know what I’d do without you at this point. Four months never seemed like such a consequential unit of measurement.”

“Time’s funny like that.” He agreed. “You can waste days, then do more important things in an hour than some people do in a year.”

“I’ve done more in my twenty years than some people do their entire lives.” I agreed, running a hand through my shower-damp hair. 

“Oh really?” He asked, mirroring my action with a hand through his curls, shaking them out and flicking them to the side.

“Yeah.” I replied, speaking the next bit into my cup. “I fell for you.”

He barked out a quick laugh, and when I snuck a glance up at him he was rolling his eyes, an indulgent smile on his face. “You’re such a sap. You’re worse than Zayn, honestly Niall and I should just trade, and you two could write love poetry to each other.”

“You wouldn’t give me away, would you?” I asked, a smile sneaking onto my face even as I tried to tease him.

“Of course not.” He replied easily. “Not for all the time in the world.”

I slid down to the floor, resting my head on the cabinet behind me and staring up at Harry. “Now who’s being a sap.”

He grinned, sinking down onto the ground, his feet reaching out to rest beside me. “Closet romantic.” He replied with a shrug, his fingers worrying the cuff of my sweater. 

I held my mug up to my lips and breathed in the steam, taking the moment of quiet to roll my shoulders back and revel the stiffness. Memories of last night still hung fresh in my mind, in the way my muscles still ached, the faint bruising on my hips, and the mottled color on Harry’s neck where my lips had been.

I watched him in the silence, something I found myself doing increasingly often, entranced by the way he moved and everything about him. I could feel him doing the same, eyes tracing me like he was trying to memorize my outline.

“You can give yourself to me for my whole life.” He said after a long while, after my eyes had once again grown heavy, tea cold in my hands. “But I can’t give myself to you for yours. I can give you my entire life and still not give you enough.”

I looked over at him, his shoulders hunched and small on the tile, broken and a little bit lost. Harry did that sometimes, curl into himself and drift away, mostly like he was looking for someone to tug him back to shore. 

I crossed to his wall, setting my mug down so I could pull him into a clumsy hug. “It’s not about time.” I assured him, conviction dawning on me as we sat together, early morning stillness leaving the kitchen empty, just Harry and I on the tile, arms wrapped tight. “I’ll give you me, and you’ll give me you. That’s the end of it.”

He snuggled into my side. “Our own little infinity.”

I pressed a kiss to his head. “We’ve still got a million seconds to waste.”

Danielle found us in the kitchen a half an our later, asleep in a huddle on the floor, holding our precious seconds between our tired bodies like if we clutched each other tighter they wouldn’t slip away.

 

xx

 

I returned Harry to the hospital a few hours later, receiving a stern look from an older nurse as I ushered him back to his bed. So perhaps sneaking Harry hadn’t been the best idea, but I wasn’t exactly regretting it.

We slid between the covers, bodies tangling underneath the sheets as we settled into the clean white cotton. I’d brought The Fault In Our Stars and we briefly considered reading, but Harry had a bit of a headache so we ended up curling in front of the television and watching Wheel of Fortune.

Three o’clock approached rapidly, and in no time I was kissing Harry on the cheek and heading out, my first day of chemo already upon me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm going to a disclaimer here:  
> So basically when I sent this chapter to my editor the first thing she says is 'mattie oh my god is harry not a virgin oh my god MATTIE DO THEY NOT HAVE CANCER MATTIE PLZ'  
> and i had one reply for her  
> and that reply  
> was leave me and my ridiculous porn alone.  
> But in all seriousness, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter regardless of my ridiculousness, and thankyou so much for all the kudos and comments. (:


	6. Catch Me I'm Falling

March 2nd - Day 46

Basically, I felt like crap. The first time, I definitely remembered the chemo being worse than the actual cancer, but this exceeded my worst expectations. I’d been cuddled up on the couch all afternoon with a half finished bowl of applesauce, alternating between moaning complaints at Liam and throwing up.

“Liam.” I whined, tossing one of my pillows back in the general direction of the dining room. “Liam fiiix itttt.”

I heard a sigh, then Liam’s feet padding over to me, placing the pillow back into my waiting arms. “Lou honestly, I can’t make dinner if you’re going to be pathetic. I can’t make this better.”

I looked up at him, the upset tilt to him mouth, dark circles underneath his eyes. He reached for my shoulders, massaging them with careful fingers. Sometimes I forgot that I wasn’t the only one affected by my illness. It was Liam who helped wash my sweat stained sheets, who brought me food I wasn’t going to be able to keep down, who drove me back from chemo when I couldn’t. It was Liam who was going to have to go to my funeral and read some speech about how hard I fought and how strong I was. A lot of times I was pretty sure he was stronger than me. 

“I know.” I gave him a smile, trying my best to look chipper, despite the cement that seemed to fill my veins. “I’m okay. Sorry about bothering you, that’s pretty shitty of me.”

He smiled back, ruffling a gentle hand through my hair. “I don’t mind all that much. If you weren’t being insufferable and annoying, then I’d really be worried.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever stop doing that.” I replied, leaning back into his fingers.

“Good.” He tapped my head twice, heading back into the kitchen. “You going to be up for dinner?”

“I’m going to try.” I called back to him, the urge to throw a tantrum still not quite gone. It wasn’t that I was mad at any particular thing, more just a general frustration at my inability to be a functioning human. I’d had to take a few days off work to deal with this whole dying thing, and it was putting me in a bit of a funk. I loved my job and my patients, and having to cancel appointments for any reason always bothered me.

I picked up my phone, texting the one person who never failed to make me feel better. Not to mention that I was fairly sure he would be out of chemo by now and I wanted to make sure he was okay, even though there really wasn’t much I could do if he wasn’t.

6:35 Louis

Ready to run that marathon yet?  
He replied a minute later, bringing a reluctant smile to my face despite the leaden feel of my limbs and the off taste in my mouth.

6:36 Harry

You woke me up. I feel terrible. I’m going to kill you.  
I let out a small coughing laugh, typing out my reply. It was times like these that I wished we lived together, that I had the empty bed next to Harry’s, or that he could share mine, because if we were both going to feel like crap, I’d much prefer to do it with him.

6:37 Louis

Do I have to come over there are kiss it better?  
6:37 Harry

I’d probably throw up on you.  
6:37 Louis

That wouldn’t be all that much fun. See you tomorrow after appointments?  
I leaned back into my corner of the couch, spooning a bit of applesauce into my mouth as I waited for his reply. I could feel the desire to drift into a dour mood pushing at the edges of my consciousness, something I was desperately trying to avoid. I couldn’t let this get to me.

It would be so easy to let myself get drawn into the hopelessness of it all, the knowledge that this was beginning of a long battle, and one I might not see the end of. But Harry had learned the hard way how shutting down could kill you faster than the sickness, and I had to be strong, not only for myself but for him.

Since my dad had left all those years ago, I learned what it was like to tare care of other people. In a way, that had been as big of an influence on my decision to become a therapist as the cancer was. There wasn’t anything easy about helping my mother with my sisters, but putting their needs before mine had never even been something I questioned. I guess one of my virtues, or perhaps faults, was that I cared for people, because I always had and didn’t know how to do anything else.

I guess it was about being strong for people who couldn’t be, for helping them until they could be strong too.

6:39 Harry

I may sleep on you.  
A smile crept across my face at his words. In a way, I was staying strong for Harry, but he was the reason for my strength. I guess we needed each other, a sort of push and pull to keep ourselves alive. 

6:39 Louis

Sounds excellent. Now nap, I want you to feel better. xx  
6:49 Harry

Okay. xx  
6:48 Louis

Okay xx  
It was going to be a long 24 hours, but it would be worth the wait. 

March 3rd - Day 45

Saturday found me in relatively high spirits, and I managed to squeeze into something other than sweat pants as I went about the day. One of my patients, a particularly perceptive dark haired girl, side eyed me throughout our session, but other than that I was fairly sure no one else caught on to what was really going on behind my facade of normalcy. 

I ended up in Harry’s room around seven thirty, after forcing down a sandwich at the foodcourt with a fervent wish that my appetite would return sooner rather than later. He was sleeping when I arrived, curled up on the edge of his bed and burrowed down into his covers. I didn’t wake him this time, only stole a pair of his sweatpants, slipping into them in the privacy of the tiny bathroom. 

Now sufficiently comfortable, I slid into his bed, careful not to disturb him as I flipped open the new John Green book I’d been reading. I wasn’t going to finish The Fault In Our Stars without Harry, but sometime between our blanket fort and now I’d become a bit addicted to the writer. 

I spent most of the evening like that, reading in the quiet peace of the hospital room, Harry’s quiet snuffling and the rustle of pages offsetting the beep and bustle of the hospital outside.

He woke up once, only long enough to stare up at my with glassy green eyes, a small smile of contentment crossing his face as they met my blue ones. He didn’t say a word, only snuggled up closer to my side as I slid a hand through his curls and turned to the next page.

March 4th - Day 46

It was two o’clock before I got Harry’s hospital room, messenger bag slung over my shoulder, collar turned up against the early spring rain. Liam had begun to tease me about spending all of my off time with Harry, though I wasn’t all that offended. It was exactly where I wanted to be after all.

The curly haired boy in question had actually managed to wake himself up when I came in, shooting me a sleepy smile as he closed his laptop, sliding it onto the floor and pulling the back the bedclothes for me to climb in.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, letting my own tired body flop onto the sheets next to him.

“Sleepy. Still shitty. Tiny bit headachey.” He reached for my hand, pulling me in. “Okay.”

I snuggled around him, liking the way his body was becoming familiar to me, every hollow and plane of skin fitting against my fingers just like I thought it would. I was slowly committing him to memory, an intangible copy I could keep close in the time that would separate us.

“You feeling alright?” He asked, moving so I was the one tucked into his chest, his arm wrapped around my shoulders. I didn’t particularly like to be touched when I was feeling sick, a much bigger fan of curling up in my sheets and generally feeling sorry for myself, but I didn’t mind so much with Harry. In fact, it was almost nice.

“I’m tired. Still kind of nauseous. Achey. Pretty shit, could be worse.” I replied, taking his hands in mine and worrying my fingers across his knuckles. 

He pressed his temple to mine, letting out a low breath. “I’d say we could switch bodies so you wouldn’t have to feel that, but I don’t think mine is much more fun than yours at the moment.”

That got a wheezy laugh out of me. “How about I give you my head and you give me your body?”

He chuckled under his breath, moving to whisper in my ear. “Love, you’ve already got my body.”

I leaned my head backwards, blowing a kiss up at him. “You’re hot.”

He laughed for a real then, a quick bark of amusement. “You too.”

I pulled my bag up into my lap, digging around the bottom until I found our novel, the corners beginning to get a bit worn from carting it around for the last month. “Harry, I’ve decided something.”

He made a curious noise in the back of his throat, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “And what is that?”

I cracked the book open where we’d placed out bookmark, shifting so I was a little bit more upright. “We’re going to finish this goddamn book today.”

“Whatever you say, Captain.” He replied, the idle amusement not leaving his tone as he settled around me, chin resting just above my shoulder, hands on my hips. 

I started up where we left off, snuggling into Harry’s arms as I read, my voice floating across the silence. I felt awful, my body leaden and tired, but also like everything was going to be okay if I just kept breathing, slow breaths in and out of my cancer infested lungs. 

xx

It was dark by the time we finished, my voice thick, tears I couldn’t keep back spilling down my cheeks as I wiped them away with the back of my hand. I lay the book down on the covers, tipping my head back to look at Harry, who was sniffling behind me.

“I was not emotionally prepared for that kind of pain.” He said after a moment, burying his head in my shoulder with a hitching kind of sob.

I nodded, biting my lip with a laugh that broke in the middle. “That was not what I signed up for.” I agreed, taking his hands and pulling him close around me, unable to stop my tears. “I did not sign up for crying, that was not what I wanted.”

He let out a whine followed by a sniffle, sneaking a hand out of my grasp to wipe his eyes. “Fuck that was sad.”

I nodded. “I know.” There are so few truly great books, books that fill you up and then tear you apart with the beauty in their pages, and I thought that maybe The Fault In Our Stars was one of them. It was haunting how it seemed to tell a shimmering reflection of our story, about love and loss and unalterable truth. Maybe Harry was no Augustus, with existentially fraught free throws or one leg, nor I Hazel, who walked lightly and thought herself a grenade, but we knew what it was like to die. To die and love, and know how they’re both like falling in the end.

He let out another broken laugh of his own, hugging me close. “Look at us. We’re pathetic.”

“I like my choices, Haz.” I replied, eyes still swimming in salt water, feeling all twisty and sappy inside. “If you get to choose who hurts you, I like my choices.”

He pressed a kiss to my neck, cheek wet where it brushed against my skin. “Stop it, I’m trying to retain my manly dignity and you quoting the saddest book in the universe is not helping in the least.”

“The world is not a wish granting factory, Harold!” I replied, using his comforter to dry my eyes. “You can’t make me stop!”

He tackled me into a hug, sliding us down in the covers so we were nose to nose, bodies tangled in each other. “You’re the absolute worst.”

“I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly and then all at once?” I replied, pecking him on the lips and relaying what was probably my favorite line from the whole book.

He returned the kiss. “My thoughts are stars I can’t fathom into constellations.”

I ran a finger down his cheek, catching a tear and brushing it aside. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

He smiled, a lopsided thing that made my heart jump somewhere into my throat. “Didn’t take me too long, did it?” 

“Not too long.”

His smile turned serious, glassy green eyes filled with an intensity that felt like he was on the urge of swallowing me whole. “If it makes any difference, I like my choices too.”

I buried my face in his neck, soaking in the warmth of his skin, murmuring a reply against his collarbone. “ _Good._ ”

Chapter 17

March 6th - Day 48

I didn’t talk to Harry sans a few quick text messages until Tuesday, Monday’s appointments leaving me too exhausted to do much but inhale dinner and flop into bed. I could feel the treatment and sickness taking its toll, but damnit if I wasn’t going to keep working. I had an obligation to my patients and myself, and I wasn’t planning on quitting until I physically couldn’t stand up straight.

When I finally made it to Harry’s hospital room, I found it mysteriously empty. He couldn’t have been gone long, his covers all askew, laptop open on his starry sheets, but there was no Harry in sight.

“Haz?” I called out, taking a tentative step inside and peering around the bed, trying not to be worried. He’d probably just stepped out for a bit of air or something to eat. I set my bag on the chair, wishing I could completely quash the panic rising inside my chest. He never left his room, _ever._

“Harry, love, are you here?”

What if something seriously bad had happened? What if he’d had a seizure, what if he’d fallen, was bleeding out somewhere as he waited for someone to find him? I fought the shaking of my hands as I went to text him, sending off a quick _where are you?_ in the hope that he was okay enough to answer.

“Harry please.” I said slowly, letting my phone hang limp in my hands, staring up at the ceiling in the vague hope that maybe if I wished hard enough he’d appear, perfect and unharmed. “Hazza?” I sounded alone even to my own ears.

I sunk onto the floor, aching bones creaking as I hit the tile, overworked brain out of options. I was so tired, and so unbelievably overwhelmed. “I hope you’re okay.”

There was a long moment of silence, during which every single awful possibility ran through my mind at least four times, before I heard a soft voice drift out to meet me. “I’m okay.”

My head snapped up, eyes finding the crack underneath the bathroom door where a shadow was curled up in the darkness. “Harry?”

“Don’t come in.” He intoned, low and ragged, like something had broken inside him. 

I crawled over to the bathroom door, peering underneath to try and catch a glimpse of anything in the shadows. “Why isn’t the light on?”

He sniffed, taking a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to see.”

I leaned up against the wood, wanting nothing more than to go in there and hug him, to fix whatever had gone so awfully wrong. “Can’t you let me in?”

“No.” He replied quickly, then, softer, “Please, no.”

“Okay.” I curled up, pulling my knees to my chin and wrapping my arms around them. It was times like this that I remembered how breakable he was, the way his body moved with hairline cracks in the joints. He was so lovely, so easily ruined, and I couldn’t protect him from everything, especially when he was the one tearing himself apart. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“No.” He replied. 

“Harry?” I asked, wishing I could to slide under the door and crawl into his arms until he couldn’t be sad anymore. 

“Yeah?”

“I love you so much.”

He didn’t reply, only choked down another quivering breath and slid his fingers underneath the door, letting me thread mine through his. 

I don’t know how long we sat there, me sending all the good I had left in my body through the wood, him taking low shivering breaths. It was getting late, a darkness creeping in until the only illumination was the light from the hall and the small lamp by his bedside. It lit up the empty hospital room, a kind of sick foreshadowing to a time when he wouldn’t be around to fill the starspeckled sheets.

“Louis, you should go get some sleep.” He said finally, sounding slightly less like he was going to break into tears, voice soft and weary. “You’re going to hate yourself tomorrow if you don’t.”

“I’m not going to leave you know,” I promised, squeezing his fingers as tightly as I could. “No matter how much you want me to.” The way he’d said the words dug some painful place deep in my chest, concern for me lacing them even as he begged me to leave, because after everything he still truly believed I could be saved if he pushed me away. The knowledge tied me to the spot, even as my eyes grew heavy, my limbs slowly going numb.

A long pause. “Please.” He had that tone again, vulnerable and soft like I was too close to places no one was allowed to see. The hidden corners of his heart that never really stopped hurting no matter how many times he covered them with dimpling smiles. It was exactly where I wanted to be right now, close enough that he could take whatever he needed from me, pull energy from my bones and put himself back together.

“I’m not going to leave you like this.” I replied, conviction ringing through my near whisper. 

“I don’t want you to see me.” He whispered back. “I don’t want you to see.”

“Please just open the door.” I pressed myself against the wood, wishing I could communicate to him that whatever was on the other side of that door wouldn’t change anything.

“Just promise-” He began, nails digging into my knuckles. “Promise me.”

“Promise you what?” I asked, even as realization dawned upon me, everything becoming terrible clear. 

“Promise you won’t laugh.” He finished, somewhere between a whisper and a sob. “Promise you’ll still want me.”

I smoothed my fingers over his, trying to ease away the tension. “I’ll want you no matter what, remember? That’s never going to change, ever.”

For a long moment, I didn’t think he was going to answer, that we’d be sitting here all night, holding hands underneath a hospital door. Then, softly, “Okay.” There was a soft scuffling of feet on tile and the slow turn of the knob followed by an eventual click, the door cracking open. I put my hand on the doorknob, pressing it wide and stepping into the darkness. I reached for the light, flooding the white room in ugly florescence. 

Harry stood with his back to me, gray sweatpants riding low on his lips, shoulders curled into himself, arms wrapped around his stomach like he was holding his intestines in. He was so unbelievably fragile, six feet of smooth skin and wide shoulders shattered at the seams. In the effort to fight the sickness, it seemed his body had forgotten to hold him together. 

His curls lay in tufts on the floor.

I hummed low in my throat, crossing the sticky tile to wrap my arms around him, pressing soft kisses to the sharp curve of his shoulderblades. “ _You’re shivering_.”

“It started falling out this morning.” He whispered, still as a statue underneath my fingers. 

“I still think you’re perfect.” I replied, hating how awful this was, that this had to happen at all. 

“It’s so stupid, but I just- I feel all wrong now.” He admitted, another shiver creeping up his spine. He was nearly bald, his curls thinned out until there was barely anything left. It hurt to see, a visible testimony to the way he was slowly falling apart.

“I know, love.” I rested my forehead between his shoulders, letting out a long breathe onto his skin and then breathing him back in. Standing here was like having a million needles pressed into my skin, a sharp biting pain that hurt all over. A beating reminder that the universe was not kind, and sometimes beautiful boys found their curls on the bathroom floor with no way to super glue them back on.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” He asked me, still refusing to return my contact, to take the hands hovering on his arms, to turn around and hold me close. Standing here in the cold white bathroom, I needed it almost as much as he did. “It’s really awful.”

I shook my head, a full bodied sigh wracking through me. I’d never felt so small. “It’s not so bad.”

“It is.”

“Harry.” I said sternly. “Look at me.”

He tensed, standing stock still, head bowed to his chest, breath catching. 

I slid my hands down his back, running my fingers in slow circles, pleading with him. _Let me fix you._ “It’s just me, Haz. It’s only me.”

He nodded, turning slowly so our faces were inches from each other. It was so odd to see him without his halo of hair, messy chocolate curls wreathing his face. He looked small without them, green eyes and pink lips filling up his face. 

I ran my fingers across his cheeks, stroking over the bags underneath his eyes, moving up and across what was left of his hairline. “I can see your ears now.” I said, some wistful kind of smile settling on my face. I raised myself onto my tip toes, kissing first the left and then the right. “It’s okay.”

He leaned down, our foreheads pressed together. “It’s not really at all.”

I rested my hands on his hips, feeling his arms come to rest around my shoulders. “Nothing really is anymore.”

“But we are.” He gave me a brief parody of a smile, a small uplift of his lips purely for my benefit. 

“Of course we are.” I replied, voice coming out more fierce than I’d intended, a sort of violent possessiveness creeping into my tone. The world could take away my lungs and Harry’s hair and eventually Harry himself, but I wasn’t going to let it take this too. It was mine, and I was going to carry it until there wasn’t any of me left to do any carrying.

“Okay.” He ran his tongue over his lips, then leaned down to mold them to mine, kissing me slowly like we had all the time in the world.

March 7th - Day 49

My hair didn’t fall out like Harry’s, in curling clumps, but in slippery strands that covered my pillow when my body jerked itself awake at 4:55, skin slick with sweat. I closed my eyes, knowing even as I did that sleep was out of my grasp. I began my usual morning trek to the bathroom, scalding water washing me clean, tangles of hair swirling down the drain.

I wrapped a towel around my waist as I stepped onto the bathmat, knotting the terry cloth and running tentative fingers through my hair. It was still mostly intact, but it was only a matter of days before I was just as bald as Harry.

I went to find my phone, firing off a quick text.

Louis 5:21

Can I come over?  
I was probably waking him up, but given the amount of time he spent in bed I didn’t feel too bad. And maybe I was a little bit selfish when it came to Harry, considering all our time was precious and limited.

He responded a few minutes later, sounding surprisingly charitable for the hour.

Harry 5:22

Of course. You okay?  
I pulled on my red comfy pants and a striped shirt, slipping cream plimsolls onto my feet as I considered my answer.

Louis 5:24

Mostly. I can’t sleep.  
Harry 5:24

Had a headache all night. Medicine just kicking in.  
I stared at the screen, frowning at his words. It was so hard to know he was hurting, that there was nothing I could do to make it better. My thumb hovered over the green light of the call button, pressing it as I slung my bag over my shoulder and made my way to the kitchen, leaving a quickly scrawled note on the counter for Liam.

Harry picked up on the first ring, sounding faintly amused. “Yes Lou?”

I stepped out of the apartment, snicking the door shut behind me. “Just wanted to tell you I love you.”

“You could have just texted.” He replied, but there was a smile in his tone.

“I know.” I smiled, cradling the cell against my ear. “But I wanted to hear your voice. I wanted you to hear mine.”

There was a small beat of silence before he replied, breath crackling when he held his mouth just a little bit too close to the receiver. “You’re ridiculous and I love you.”

I grinned, liking how my insides still got all funny at the words no matter how many times he said them. “I’ll see you soon, Haz.”

He let out a small breathy laugh. “See you soon, Lou.”

xx

When I arrived, he was wearing his ramones shirt and the same pants as yesterday, rumpled like he’d slept in them, or at least tried to. He was sitting up, a book propped open in his lap, lamp casting him in a warm orange glow. He looked up when he saw me, tugging the gray beanie he was wearing lower on his forehead with a lazy smile. “Morning.”

I moved over to him, quietly as to not disturb the morning peace of the hospital, and kissed him slowly on the mouth. “What are you reading?” I asked, settling across from him on the bed.

He held up the novel, showing me a familiar black cover. “Looking For Alaska. I saw you reading it, thought it might be good.”

“It is.” I confirmed, pulling a gum wrapper from my bag and sticking it in the pages, sliding the book from his fingers and setting it on his bedside table.

He watched me with casual interest, long fingers playing over my knees. “I’m tired.”

I nodded, stifling a yawn even as he said the words. Tired was something I was becoming more and more intimately familiar with. It had been creeping up on me for months, a weariness that weighed on my bones even as I struggled to push it away. “Me too. This will be quick though.” I threaded my fingers through his, pulling him up and leading him to the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” He asked, watching me through hooded eyes as I turned on the lights, washing the room in pale white light. 

I didn’t answer, pulling a towel from the rack and spreading it on the tile, then sitting down and pulling my shirt over my head. Harry observed my movements from his perch on the edge of the bathtub, sleepy interest sparking in his gaze. I reached into my bag, pulling out an electric trimmer and holding it out to him, a determined set to my mouth. “I want you to shave my head.”

He blinked. “You want me to shave your head.”

I nodded, reaching out to place it into his hands. “That’s what I said wasn’t it?”

He stared down at it, then back up at me, weighing the trimmer uncertainly. “You really sure you want to?”

I nodded, running a hand through my shower damp hair. “It’s coming out anyway. You do me, I’ll do you, deal?”

He sucked his lips into his mouth, then pursed them, looking unsure. “Okay.” He knelt down across from me, running his fingers across my skull. “I’m going to miss your hair.”

I nodded, allowing myself a rueful smile. “Me too.” There was a brief moment where he got into position, spreading his legs and scooting so I sat between them, hovering his hands above my head.

“I’m not really sure how to do this.” He said, flipping it on and biting his bottom lip.

I reached out to hold his wrist, steadying him. “I trust you.”

He nodded, focusing as he brought the blades down to my hair, shaving off an uncertain strip. It tickled as it floated down, resting on my shoulders and in the hollow of my neck. He brushed me off with gentle fingers, holding my temple in one hand and using the other to shave a more confident patch.

It went quickly after that, my chestnut hair falling around me like some strange kind of snow, tickling my skin and sticking to the fabric of my pants. In what seemed like an absurdly short time, Harry set the trimmer down on the towel, pressing his lips to my forehead. “You’re so pretty.”

I smiled, running my hands over my nearly smooth head and marveling at the lightness. “Feels a bit odd. Like I’m an alien or something.”

He shook his head, taking my hands in his. “Some kindof sprite maybe. Faerie or something. Kindof delicate.” He blushed, looking down at the floor.

I pushed him down onto his knees, sliding into his lap and wrapping myself around him. He laughed softly against my ear, resting his hands underneath my thighs and holding me up. I snuggled into his body, soaking in the inherent safety of his embrace, a certain comfort in his arms that filled me with a mad kind of hope. “More like a barnacle, yeah?” 

“Little bit like that.” I pulled back, hooking my fingers underneath his beanie and sliding back over his head. “It’s your turn, love.”

He tucked his head into my neck, lips finding my skin, arms tugging me closer. “I liked it better when you were just holding me.”

I sighed, picking the trimmer up from where he’d discarded it. “I liked that better too.”

“Just do it fast.” He said, closing his eyes, fingers gripping me tightly, wrinkling the cotton as he held on.

“You’re bruising me a bit.” I whispered, sliding back onto the floor and situating his hands in his lap.

He ducked his head. “Sorry.”

I turned on the trimmer, running a hand through the patchy remains of his lovely curls. “I know.”

“Be careful.” He murmured, turning his hands over in nervous twitching circles. I marveled at him, how he could manage to be so lanky and muscular and still look so fragile. I tapped a finger underneath his chin, bringing his head up so I could press a kiss to his lips. 

“You know I will be.” 

I made short work of the remainder of his hair, the blades shearing it to the ground in a few quick stripes. I couldn’t decide if it was better or worse that it took so little time, that in seconds it was gone like it hadn’t even been there in the first place.

It was only after I put it down that I noticed the tears wetting Harry’s eyelashes, spotting the fabric of his sweatpants as they fell. I ran my finger down the wet trails they left down his cheeks, like I could erase them with my touch. 

“It’s done, Harry.” I said softly, picking up the beanie and fitting it back over his head.

He nodded, not opening his eyes as he reached out for me, hands finding my waist and pulling me to him. He said nothing, just took heavy, heaving breaths as we sat intwined on the tile floor.

“It’s done now.”

xx

I never saw him without a beanie again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot for the fucking life of me figure out how to put space after the ends of these paragraphs holy fucking god I am going to going on a murder spree this is so annoying someone help

Chapter 18

March 10th - Day 52

I was trying not to be too annoyed by the fact that I didn’t seem to be able to do anything but schlep to my appointments and then back home, falling into my bed as soon as I got there. I could feel myself growing irritated, no matter how many times Harry told me he understood.

We texted near constantly, nothing important, just quick updates and sometimes simply the word okay back and forth and back and forth to assure the each other that we were still breathing. 

I was on my way to my 11:00, a certain coloring-obsessed six year old, when an idea occurred to me. It was probably a bad idea, but I had ten minutes to spare, and really, life owed me some good karma. Which was how I found myself shaking Harry awake at 10:53, prepared to steal him for an impromptu coloring trip.

“C’mon Haz. Haz. I’m kidnapping you.” I whispered into his ear, stroking my fingers across his jawline and tapping rhythms onto his chin. “Hazza love we’re coloring. Come color with me.”

He stirred under my prodding, turning away from my grasp with a displeased murmur and snuggling deeper into his blankets. 

“Harold get up. Terminal brain cancer is absolutely no excuse for lazing about like this.” I chided, whipping the covers back and pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “You don’t even have to change out of your jim jams.”

He reached blindly for the sheets, eyes squeezed shut against the light. “Sleep. Cancer. Fighting.” He complained, pulling himself into fetal position.

I moved onto his bed, sitting back on bent knees and running my fingers across his bare skin, the line of his neck, crook of his elbow, the space between his shirt and the hem of his pants. He squirmed under my touch, lugging himself into a sitting position and affixing me with a glare that would have been much more threatening if he didn’t look so completely rumpled. “Fuck. You.”

I leaned in, pressing an excited kiss onto his lips before he could pull away. “Sorry, Harry. I missed you, and I saw an opportunity so I pounced. Like a cat.” I slid off the bed, moving to get the wheelchair out from the corner and opening it with a snap. “Climb in.”

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and slid off the bed, taking a moment to tug on a navy sweater and lace up a pair of converse. “I’ll have you know I did not sleep well last night.” He began as we wheeled out into the hall, a dour look on his face. “Because see, some of us get debilitating headaches and can’t fucking get to sleep until 7 which makes it just dandy to be woken up at 11 by stupid fucking assholes.” He half turned in the chair, giving me a glare. “That’s you. When I say asshole I am talking about you.”

I smiled at his insolence, nearly positive he’d brighten up when presented with crayons. If not, well I supposed there was some pretty comfortable carpeting he could make himself at home on. “You aren’t totally excited to spend time with me? I’m offended.”

He scowled as we turned onto the hall where my office was located, a space I really didn’t occupy all that often considering it was technically supposed to be my home base. “I love spending time with you. Almost as much as I like sleeping.”

“Oh and does sleeping give you blowjobs and get you cupcakes?” I asked, pulling slightly at the knit of his gray beanie.

He tugged it back down. “No, but it also isn’t horribly annoying and overly enthusiastic before noon.”

I just laughed, stopping the wheelchair by the door and helping Harry out of it. “You’re the best, Hazza.”

He smiled reluctantly, pulling me in for a quick hug. “I love you too, Lou.”

I folded up the wheelchair, leaning it against the doorframe. “That’s not what I said.”

“Nah,” He began, stepping into the cream colored room, surveying the tiny table, three chairs grouped around it. “But it’s what you meant.”

I flicked him on the arm, not contradicting his statement, slipping through the door and into my big black leather chair. I honestly didn’t like having meetings here, much preferring to meet my patients in places where they felt more comfortable, sometimes even making house calls, but for a lot of younger kids it was easier for their parents to just drop them here.

Harry took one of the patient chairs, a comfortable red leather thing, settling in and crossing his feet underneath him. “I didn’t even know you had an office.” He remarked, looking up at the walls, where a calendar and pictures of Liam, Dani, and some friends from uni made their homes.

“I don’t use it much.” I explained, pulling out my stash of coloring books and handing one to Harry. 

He flipped through it, excitement lighting up his face. “Zoo animals? Awesome.”

A knock at the doorframe kept me from responding, looking up to see Olly and his mother standing there, him looking positively delighted, her slightly frazzled. “Mr. Tomlinson, so nice to see you.”

I smiled up at her. “Nice to see you too. How’s Olly?”

He grinned over at me, dropping his mother’s hand to tug his little oxygen cart over to the vacant red chair and plop himself down into it. She smiled at his movement, a tired crinkling at the edges. “Surprisingly energetic. He’s got chemo tomorrow, so we’ll see how long that lasts.”

I nodded, opening my box of crayons. “He feeling alright about it?”

She pursed and unpursed her lipstick stained lips. “He’s handling it. I mean, he’s only six.” The way she said the last words gave them a certain weight, like she’d repeated them to herself more time than anyone should. He’s only six. Only six.

“I understand. This is Harry by the way, he’s a friend of mine, he’s going to sit in today.”

She nodded distractedly, looking at her watch and then back at us, whatever other obligation she had almost physically tugging her away. “I’ll see you soon then. Bye Olly. Be good.”

The boy turned to smile at her over the back of the chair. “Bye mum.” 

He turned back to Harry and I, looking at us with a curious glint in his eyes as he accepted the coloring book I proffered. Harry caught his eye, giving him a smile.

“What are you going to color?” He asked, a warmth creeping into his gaze. It seemed to light up his whole face, bringing a soft glint to his eyes that made my insides twist around.

Olly looked up at him with wide eyes, opening the book and planting a finger in the middle of the page, looking down to examine it. “Minnie Mouse.”

“Nice.” Harry held up his own book for both of us to see. “I’m doing a Lion.” He stuck out a hand. “I’m Harry by the way.”

Olly took it, giving him a firm shake. “I’m Olly Murs.” He lisped, showing Harry his best gap toothed grin.

He nodded, returning his book to the table and picking up a blue crayon for the sky. “I know. I received some very nicely colored dolphins from you a few weeks ago.”

Olly froze, recognition plain in his face as he looked from me to Harry so fast I thought his little oxygen nubbins were going to fly out of his nose. “Oh Lou loves you!” He clapped a hand over his mouth. “Was that ‘upposed to be a secret?”

Harry barked out a laugh, one that evolved into a snicker as he registered my blush. “What, divulging the sordid details of our relationship to poor helpless six year olds?”

I crossed my arms across my chest. “I didn’t tell him! He inferred.”

Olly nodded smartly. “I inferred.” Then, after another look at Harry, “S’not prettier than me.”

Harry nodded in agreement, an amused smirk breaking across his face as my brush deepened. “I’m going have to agree with you on that one, you’ve definitely got me in the looks category. Coloring too, I’m completely hopeless.” 

I couldn’t bring myself to be all that embarrassed over the whole situation, too busy being entertained by the way Olly brought out a side of Harry I’d never seen before. In a fleeting moment, I wondered what it would be like to live with him in some big suburban home in the sunshine, Harry playing in the sprinkler with our toddler, me setting our littlest down for a nap. I shook the thought from my mind, the fantasy altogether too painful to consider. 

The younger boy leaned over the table, inspecting Harry’s handiwork. “I like it.” He jabbed a finger onto the lion’s nose. “It’s good.”

Harry laughed, eyes crinkling at the sides, dimples appearing in his cheeks as he looked up at me, before returning his gaze to the picture. “Thankyou, Mr. Murs, I appreciate it.”

xx

The next two hours passed in a similar fashion, Harry and Olly hitting it off excellently. Harry, it turned out, was amazing with kids. It softened his edges, brought out a sweetness in him that was really kind of amazing. It was almost impossible to keep my eyes off him, entranced by how he seemed to light up, a tenderness in his movements.

I clicked the box of crayons shut, sticking them in my desk drawer with the coloring books, sneaking a look over at Harry, who had his eyes locked on me. He smiled when he caught me staring, moving around to my side of the desk to wrap his arms around my waist and tug me close.

“Keep looking at me like that and I’m going to start getting self conscious.” He murmured, a hint of a smirk throwing me the smallest bit off balance. 

“You were amazing with him.” I replied, reaching up to brush my thumb across his jawline. 

He shrugged, nodding downward into my touch. “I like kids.”

I nodded, sensing more on his tongue. He didn’t tell stories quickly like I did, words rushing over each other like if I didn’t get them out fast enough they’d dissolve. He drew them out with loaded pauses and slow phrases, and you had to wait if you really wanted to hear him.

“I always wanted to adopt, you know? To settle down with someone in our own house. Be a family.” His smile turned private, gaze dropping to the ground. 

“I want that too.” I affirmed with a lingering kiss to his forehead. “Going on vacations to quaint beaches with our kids, holding your hand as we walked them to school, watching them grow up.”

He nodded, a sad smile curling across his face. “I want to do everything in the world with you.”

I returned it in kind, resting my head on his shoulder and pretending I didn’t have to be somewhere in a few minutes. “And we’d have done it too.”

March 18th - Day 60

I didn’t have any appointments on Sunday, which was why I was visiting Harry for the first time since the time I’d kidnapped him last week. The seven day respite from each other had not been voluntary, but as I’d been absolutely exhausted this past week and my limited free time was occupied by a variety of tests, I hadn’t exactly been available.

I’d managed to drag my leaden body out of bed at around eight o clock, getting myself to Harry’s in a half-lucid dream state without too much issue. 

It was awful, it seemed like no matter how much sleep I got, I was still tired. It was getting harder and harder to get myself through the day, purpling bags falling underneath my eyes and my brain growing hazy, every movement like swimming through molasses. If I was honest with myself, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep this up.

Harry was laying face down on his bed when I came in, snoring softly, his face buried in his pillow. I shrugged off my coat, climbing in next to him with the full intention of waking him up.

Five minutes later, I was fast asleep beside him.

xx

I awoke to the soft hum of the television and the quiet flipping of pages, covers pulled up to my shoulder, a light sheen of sweat on my forehead. I stirred, trying to place my surroundings, and finding myself just where I’d started; in Harry’s hospital room, plastered to his side.

He looked down as I stirred, a smile settling on his face. “Good morning.”

I blinked up at him, pulling myself into a sitting position against his pile of pillows and rubbing my eyes. “What time is it?”

He nodded over to the clock at his bedside. “About three.”

I swore, leaning up against his shoulder. “Fuck. Slept half the day away already.”

He laughed, a low sound that vibrated through his body as he pulled me into him. “I still enjoyed your company, you’re lovely to sleep next to.”

I allowed myself a grin, moving to run a hand through my hair, remembering halfway through the motion that I didn’t exactly have any hair to run through. Harry noticed, the side of his mouth quirking downward unhappily.

“It’s easier if you wear a hat. Helps you pretend it’s still up there.” He looked down at me. “Hold on a minute.” He slid off of the bed, moving to pull his suitcase out from underneath it and rooting around inside until he pulled out a navy beanie, tossing it over.

I caught it, smoothing my fingers across the soft knit as he crawled back under the covers. 

“You don’t have to wear it, but it does help.”

I nodded, fitting it over my head, the rub of the yarn against my head strange but not uncomfortable. “Thanks.” I gave him my best smile, still weary, but feeling better thanks to his proximity and my extended nap.

He returned the grin, a tiny dimple crinkling his cheek. “It’s nothing.”

I gave him a kiss on the shoulder, looking over to the book he’d put down, and recognizing the blue cover immediately. “Going for the reread?” I asked, picking it up, and opening to the page he’d saved by way of a bright blue highlighter.

“Made Zayn go get me a copy. I’ve been highlighting my favorite parts, writing bits in the margins.” He shrugged, watching as I flipped through the book, blue smeared across the first half of the pages. 

“I never really liked annotating.” I commented, closing it and handing it back to him.

“I don’t think of it as annotating, more like making it mine. Books belong to their readers, you know.” He smiled, uncapping the marker and scrawling the quote right underneath the dedication. “The author said that actually, I’ve been watching some of his videos.” 

“I like that.” I paused, biting my bottom lip. “Could we maybe, make it ours then?”

A bright grin split his face. He was happy today, I noticed, a brightness in his eyes that I hoped was at least partially attributed to my presence. I felt my lips turn up at the sides; he was a little bit contagious, and happiness looked good on him. “Of course. Mind if we start where I left off?”

I nodded contentment bubbling up inside me, pushing out the pain in my lungs and fog in my brain. “That sounds great.”

There was a beat where we just sat like that, smiling at each other like idiots, before he flipped to the inside cover, writing in big blue letters, _property of Harry and Louis._ “There.”

“Looks good. You want to read this time?” 

He nodded, turning back to where he’d left off and beginning, resting the novel against his knees as I tucked myself into his side.

xx

“That’s one of my favorite parts.” I interjected quite a few scribbled chapters later, stopping him from turning the page. “Because when they drink champagne from the dixie cups, it’s about how they’re actually just children, playing at being adults.”

He opened the highlighter, holding the cap in his mouth as he wrote _we’re both children really, playing at being adults_. “But,” He replaced the top, blowing a bit on the ink to make sure it wouldn’t bleed. “It also shows how they were forced to grow up, based on the situation they’re in.”

“You’re too smart for me, Harry Styles.” I said, resting my head on his chest in a way that was less about comfort and more about wanting to be as close to him as I could be.

“You’re using my full name, I must really be in trouble.” He replied, a hint of amusement in his voice, knocking his chin against my head.

“You are.” 

He slipped the bookmark in, setting the book on the duvet and cuddling up around me. 

“No more reading?” I asked into the cotton of his tee shirt, curling my fingers around his biceps, liking the feel of muscle under warm skin.

He shook his head, pressing a kiss down my forehead. “Getting a bit tired.”

“Okay.” I let out a sigh, perfectly happy to just lay here, bodies tangled like they so often seemed to be. It was strange, I’d had boyfriends before, but none of those relationships had ever felt like this. It seemed like the more I saw him, the more I wanted to see him, like I was slowly becoming addicted. I was a doer, someone who liked to move, to be entertained, but just laying here with Harry was more than enough.

He spoke after a long minute, voice reverberating between us. “I’ve been thinking.” It was one of those iceberg sentences, only the tip visible at first, and I waited for him to unspool the rest, dive deeper to the truth he’d eventually make his way to. But then, I’d always been good at listening.

“That’s always good.” I replied, waiting to see where he’d take this. “Anything in particular?”

“About the marks you leave on the world, about leaving scars. I was just thinking about what I’m going to leave behind.” 

“Yeah?” I looked up at him, trying to gauge his expression but unable to see past his chin. I buried my face back in his collarbone.

“And I was just thinking about what I’ve done, and I haven’t really done much have I?” I felt his fingers as they traveled across my back, tangling in my shirt. “And I was just wondering what the point was really, if you just leave with a whisper? I don’t get to leave anything good. I just leave all these people I’m going to hurt.”

“You’ve left plenty of good things, Haz.” I promised. He was like Augustus Waters in that way, in the idea that to do good was to be spectacular. It was funny kind of paradox then, that it was through Harry that I’d learned to appreciate how good wasn’t in what you did but in who you were, in loving completely, in feeling and believing. 

“I just can’t see the point today.” He asked, tracing patterns across my hips with his fingers. “I can’t see the point of living just to die. I mean, understand that it has to happen, everyone dies, but it seems so finite. You live, and then you don’t live anymore. What’s the point?”

“There isn’t a point, I don’t think.” I replied. “That’s the whole bit of it, that there isn’t one. You have to make your own.”

“I don’t know if I ever really made one.” He intoned, not quite sad, more introspective, like he was staring into himself and pulling out what he found. “But I guess you just have to do what you can, and maybe I did all I could.”

“That sounds like a quote.” I said, rolling the words over in my mind and trying to figure out where they’d come from.

He laughed, low and throaty, tone finding back the warmth it had lost. While Harry liked to dabble in sadness, he always seemed to come back around. “You said that to me.”

I fell upon the memory, the yellow lit bakery, cupcakes in our hands as I tried to break down the walls we currently hid behind. “I guess I did.” Next time I visited I’d have to bring some cupcakes. Not to mention that I’d promised Niall and Zayn some and I wasn’t sure they’d ever gotten them. 

“I just don’t want to leave everyone, I don’t want to leave you. I’m leaving so much behind.” 

Something deep in my chest contracted at the thought, and some selfish part of me wished he didn’t have to leave me behind at all, that I could go first. “That’s good I think. If you took all of you when you left, there wouldn’t be any for me.”

“I’ll leave some of me for you.” He assured me in a small voice. “You can keep all of me that you want.”

I breathed him in, knowing then that it was never going to be enough, that no matter how many seconds I took I’d still want more. I’d really always known that there wasn’t enough to give, that our little infinity was truly infinitesimal, but I guess that was our hamartia, our great fatal flaw; that we never have enough time, never enough to give.

But I would just have to take what I could get.

“I don’t regret it.”

He made a tiny curious noise, nosing the top of my head. “Regret what?”

“Everything. You’re worth the scar.” I murmured, wondering when I’d become so stupid and romantic. 

He let out a long breath against my ear, crushing me to his chest in a way that made it harder to breathe and easier to drown in his arms. “I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t want you to go either.” I replied, realizing with a start that somehow it had become dark. I flicked my eyes over at the clock to find it was nearly ten o’clock, and definitely time for me to start getting back. “I really have to get home.”

He shook his head. “Stay a little longer.”

I nodded, closing my eyes and resting my head against the mattress, as if I’d ever really entertained any other notions.

Chapter 19

March 25th - Day 67

I was starting to forget what it was like to be truly awake. I felt like I was swimming, water bubbling up into my mouth and making it harder and harder to breathe. It was slowly sinking into quicksand, the oxygen barely making its way to my brain as I tried to keep my head above.

I had so many obligations: to my patients, to Liam, Harry, and myself, but all I wanted to do was sleep and float around in dreams forever. I last saw Harry on Tuesday, only to fall asleep twenty minutes into my visit, waking up at three in the morning, Harry nursing a headache and clutching my fingers.

I could feel myself ripping apart every time I moved, my breathing labored, head swimming with each step. I needed to stop but I didn’t have time, I had to keep running and running and hope I never hit the wall.

I got to Harry’s room around 1, slipping off my toms and setting my stuff on the floor by his bed. He looked up at my entrance, smile melting away as he took in my appearance. He slid out of bed, holding the side for balance as he came towards me, worry in his eyes. I felt frozen to the spot, fully aware of how bedraggled I looked, hollows dug into my cheeks and eyes heavy, but I didn’t have any way to make it better so I just stood there avoiding his gaze.

He brought up a hand almost tentatively, brushing his fingers across my cheek. It was a soft touch, careful like he was afraid he was going to break me, like somehow I’d become something fragile. “Lou, you look awful.”

I nodded, biting my bottom lip hard enough to taste the iron tang of blood in my mouth. I wasn’t quite sure how it had gotten this bad so fast. It hadn’t been too long ago that everything was just fine. I’d had night sweats and I was out of breath more often than not, but it’d been manageable. It seemed like after chemo everything had become a rapid downward spiral I couldn’t pull myself out of.

Harry drew his fingers down my jawline, tender and comforting. I opened my mouth to speak, to tell him I was alright, that he didn’t have to worry about me, only to find that I’d lost my voice somewhere. He kept his gaze on me, patient green eyes waiting for me go on.

“I- I can’t.” And then I was out of words, everything but basic function too much. Breathe in. Breathe out. Keep yourself upright.

Harry watched as the last bit of the normalcy I’d been able to hold together crumbled at the edges, holding his arms out to me. “C’mere love. I’ve got you.”

I reached out, sagging against his chest and letting him hold me up. “I know.” I whispered, voice breaking in the middle of the word. And then suddenly I was crying, clutching at his tee shirt and pressing my face into his shoulders. I let out every frustration I’d tried to keep at bay, my whole body shaking as I let myself fall.

My brain seemed to shut down, desperation and exhaustion reducing me to a shuddering mess in Harry’s arms, barely aware of anything more than the fact that I couldn’t let go and I couldn’t seem to stop crying. Everything was just hopeless, a struggle I was never going to win. 

I was forgetting how to be strong, forgetting how to hold on, even as it was only thing I could seem to do. I understood what Harry had meant when he said dying was like falling, but it was so much more than that. You can’t fight a fall, it doesn’t make your fingers bleed and muscles heave as you try your best to slow your descent. It’s more like paddling against the current, swimming desperately upstream as the water pushes you backwards, pushes you under.

I slowly became aware of Harry’s hands rubbing circles on my back, lips whispering comfort against my skin, pressing kisses into my neck. Despite a quiet fear that I’d never be able to stop the tears, I was eventually able to steady my breathing, pulling back to wipe my eyes.

I sniffled, turning away from him to focus on the tiled floor, wishing he didn’t have to see me like this. I felt vulnerable, stripped to the bone and I hated it, wished I could put my armor back up. “I’m a fucking mess.” I spat, loathing the weakness in my voice, how it broke in the middle.

“You’re not a mess.” Harry reassured me in his stupid soft voice, the one that wormed itself under my skin and made me feel guilty. He grabbed my face in strong hands, forcing me to look at him as he brushed tears away with his thumbs. “You are not a mess, okay?”

I squirmed in his grasp, letting my brain feed me lies. I’d never wanted to hate myself more then, wanted to scratch my skin off because I’d broken. I’d told myself to be good and keep going and I hadn’t. I’d let myself fall, and that was completely unacceptable. “Don’t do that. I’m being pathetic, I-”

He cut me off with his lips, rough and messy, salt on my tongue as he pushed me backwards, my back hitting the wall and forcing the air from my lungs. He stood over me, eyes flashing. “You are not being pathetic, there’s _nothing_ pathetic about crying.”

I dug my fingers into his sides, feeling my nails sink into the cotton and against soft skin. “No, it’s not okay. I can’t be weak.” I was breathing painfully hard as I stared up at him, feeling the cruel edge of my voice but unable to stop it. “I won’t be weak.”

He shook his head, using his strength to push back, pinning me hard. “I’m weak. Is that a problem for you? Do you know how many hours this year I’ve spent crying? Do you?” He eyes hardened, fingers curling deep into the flesh of my hips like he wanted to hurt me just as much as I wanted to hurt myself. “And it doesn’t make me any less strong than you, Louis. Weakness is not the opposite of strength, the opposite of strength is nothing. And I’m not going to let you feel nothing. I am not going to let you.”

“That’s fucking bullshit.” I hissed, noses bumping as I enunciated, wanting every word to hit, to cut and to hurt. “Crying means you’re weak and you’re so fucking weak. You are so. Fucking. Weak.”

He just looked down at me, a sad kind of calm in his eyes as his grip loosened. It was like the more I taunted him, the faster the fight drained from his bones, and it made me want to rip him apart. “I know, but right now, I’m going to be strong for you. You just have to let me.”

I pushed at his chest, rejecting his body as he boxed me in. “Stop it! Stop thinking you can fix this. I don’t need you to be strong for me, and I don’t need you!”

I could see the hurt in his eyes, plain and piercing, but he didn’t step away, only continuing to hold me steady. I liked it, in some awful way. Because the more I hurt him the more it hurt me, and that was exactly what I wanted. “You’ve never needed me more, Lou.” He said softly, barely more than a whisper.

“No. I need you to hate me.” I whispered, injecting as much venom as I could into the words. “Tell me you hate me.”

He pressed his lips to my forehead, eyes falling closed. I had the feeling he was trying to draw the sickness out of me. “I hate you.” He replied, but they were just words, lies even as they reached his lips. 

I bit back angry tears, Harry meeting my glassy eyes, the understanding in his gaze filling me with a defiant fire. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what, Louis?” He asked tiredly.

“Like I’m something you want. Like you love me.”

I grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling his lips down onto mine so I wouldn’t have to look at him anymore, to see the pity there. It was a violent kiss, my tongue attacking his lips until he let me in, messy with teeth and tears and exasperation. His hands wrapped around me, digging my shoulders into the wall and kissing me back with the same brutal enthusiasm. 

It was a power play, each of us trying to swallow the other up, vicious and inescapable, and I wasn’t really sure who was winning. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted anymore, it was like I was being torn apart and pushed in on myself, my emotions and body pushed to the breaking point. I guess I just wanted to feel better, and I was beginning to think I never would.

I clutched at Harry, my brain going cloudy with the taste of his lips as I took shorter and shorter breaths. The lack of oxygen pressed painfully on my chest, and I relished in the way it numbed my senses, made the blood rush in my ears. I knew I should breathe, pull back and come up for air, but somehow I’d gotten oxygen and Harry confused, and it was all I could do to move my lips against his. 

Faintness was encroaching on my mind and I sagged a bit in his arms, a small laugh falling against his mouth, a ragged breath filling my lungs.

I saw his alarm register through my fluttering eyelids, his voice panicked and low. “Louis? Louis say something.” He swore, strong hands holding me upright as the spots in my vision began to fade with every quick inhale. “Louis you fucking idiot say something.”

I coughed, knocking our noses together with the movement. “Sorry.”

He pressed his lips fiercely to my forehead. “You better fucking be sorry. I swear to god, if you ever fucking do that again...” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. 

I dropped my eyes to the line of his collarbone, remorse welling up inside me. Harry didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve to be treated like this, and I didn’t deserve him. “I don’t know what I was doing. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Yes you did. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

I bit my lip. “I’m scared.”

He sighed, suddenly looking much older than his years. “I know.”

“I just don’t know what I’m doing anymore.” I managed, making an effort to scrape words out of my mangled brain. “I’ve always been able to make things work, even when they’re hard. Always. And now I don’t know if I can anymore, and I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Then don’t do it all. If you can’t, it’s not worth it. Instead of trying to drag yourself through everything, pick what’s really important and let that be enough. You are nothing less because of it.”

“It just feels...” I stumbled over the words, trying to pick the right one. “Cowardly.”

Harry shook his head. “Alright, you’re way better at this than me, but I’m going to try, alright?”

I stared at him, unsure as to where he was taking this. 

He pursed his lips, wrapping his hands around my biceps to hold me in place and hovering his face close to mine, so he was the only thing I could see. “Okay. I don’t know where you got this idea that you can’t let anything hurt you, but it’s stupid as fuck. You’re amazing Lou, you’re the strongest bravest person I’ve ever met, but that doesn’t mean you have to be strong and brave all the time. You are allowed to cry and you’re allowed to admit when everything is too much. Moments of weakness don’t make you a bad person, they make you human, it means that you can still feel, and that you’re still alive.”

“I know that you’re always going to be the sort of person who wants to be okay for others, who wants everyone to think they’re going to be alright even when they’re not, but you don’t have to be like that all the time. It’s something I love about you, the way that your love is like protection, like you can hold me up when I can’t.”

He took a deep breath, hands moving up my sides so they cupped my jaw, our bodies fitting together as he pressed closer, like he wanted to cover me up with his skin, make sure nothing could ever get to me. “I know I’m never going to be brave like you, it’s never going to be who I am, but I just want you to know that you don’t have to be strong all the time. I can be strong for you too.”

I nodded, wiping away the tears that had somehow crept up into my eyes. “I didn’t mean what I said.” 

“I know.”

“Really.” I smiled a watery half smile, letting myself accept his comfort. “You aren’t weak. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

He smiled back, and I could feel the relief in his eyes, sparkling as he pulled me completely back from where I’d curled up in my mind. “I am, but it’s okay really. That’s why I need you.”

“I need you too.”

And I did, because somehow Harry filled in my gaps, fixing the little cracks that formed in my veins. I needed him, his lion heart that beat too quickly and the way he needed me just as much.

He wasn’t perfect, not by any means, he was unsteady, emotional, and he didn’t always think, but I found I didn’t really mind. They were flaws, but on him they didn’t seem that way. 

In the end, Harry was good. He loved harder than anyone I’d ever met, and it was intoxicating, addicting, and I wanted to take more than I could ever have.

As he pulled me into a warm hug, heartbeat a steady thump against my chest, I became sure of something I had always suspected, that Harry was the most truly good person I had ever met.

In many ways, he was a better person than I could ever be.

Chapter 20

March 31st - Day 73

I spent the rest of the week getting my affairs in order. It was a long process, working my way through my appointments and breaking the news, even with Harry’s help. After showing up in his room Monday evening tired and emotionally drained, he’d insisted on accompanying me, a quiet supportive presence as I worked through the hours. 

It did get easier. I wasn’t sure if it was him or fact that the words got a little bit less stuck in my throat with every repetition, but I became more accustomed to the combination of pity and sadness that fell into their gazes. It hadn’t ended up being too bad really, all of my patients seemed to have a solid grasp of the inescapable power of illness and it wasn’t exactly like I’d been the picture of health the last few weeks.

We ended up stretched out across the comforter Sunday afternoon, staring up at the white expanse of ceiling, fingers wrapped together, some soft music trickling from Harry’s ipod. The last of my appointments had finished up no more than an hour ago, leaving a strange kind of emptiness to descend over me, tinged with something like calm.

“This feels so strange.” I said softly, squeezing Harry’s hand in mine. 

He shifted a bit on the bedspread, turning so his head was facing mine, green eyes lidded and soft. “Like you’re laying around waiting to die. I know.”

“Kinda. It’s more like floating. A little like sadness.” I replied. “Like the whole world has stopped around me.”

He shrugged. “It always seemed to me like I was the one who stopped.”

“Either way, it’s a bit like we’re trapped in a bubble, isn’t it?” I asked, scooting just a little bit closer to him.

He nodded, closing the space between us so our sides were pressed together, so when we both turned out heads our lips nearly touched. “Bit like that, yeah. It’s kindof nice though, being in a bubble with you.”

I allowed myself a tiny smile, giving him a quick affirmative kiss. “Of course.” Then, with a quick glance at the clock. “Mind if I stay the night?”

A smile quirked at the side of his mouth, a pleased sparkle in his eyes. I thought that maybe Harry was possibly more than a little pleased to have me all to himself, and it brought a happy little fluttering to my chest. “Not at all.”

I grinned, squeezing his hand. “I’ll go text Liam.”

He snuggled in closer to me. “He knows where you are.”

I laughed softly, acknowledging the truth to his words. It wasn’t like there were that many other places I could possibly be. “I’ll text him in the morning.”

Harry nodded, pressing a sloppy kiss to my neck. “In the morning.”

April 1st - Day 74

Morning came a little bit too early, with Harry’s head buried into my chest, jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut. I was clammy with sweat, muscles achey, clothes sticking unpleasantly to my skin and leaving me with a damp chill in my bones. I shifted in the hopes of sneaking away for a quick shower, but I’d barely moved and inch when Harry made a tiny painful noise and pressed his forehead into my sternum, and so I stayed where I was.

I felt pretty shitty to be honest, muscles achey, dizzy like I wasn’t getting quite enough oxygen to my brain. I wondered vaguely if my lungs were filling up like Hazel’s did, if I was on the verge of drowning inside of myself. I thought maybe it should worry me a little, but laying here it all seemed a bit pointless.

I reached out, trying to jostle Harry as little as possible, and pressed the red call button on the side of the bed. A nurse was there not much later, the dark haired girl I recognized from some of my earlier visits. 

She assessed the situation from the doorway, holding up a finger and dashing out, coming back with a small orange prescription bottle. She unscrewed the cap as she moved to his beside, taking one of my hands and cupping it, giving me two white pills. “They should start working in a few minutes.” She murmured, finding the half full water bottle on his beside and holding it out for me to take.

I pulled myself slowly upward, nudging Harry onto the mattress. “You have to sit up, babe. Just for a minute.” He moaned softly, but let me prop him carefully against his pillows, an awful feeling bubbling up inside me as I did so. I just wanted to take his pain away, because watching him like this hurt just as much as the pressure in my lungs. “Take these, okay? You’ll feel better.”

He reached out blindly and I pressed the bottle and pills into his grasp, my hands hovering close to his shaking fingers to make sure he took them. Once he’d managed to get them both down, I relieved him of the water, letting him curl up in my lap with soft noises of suffering that escaped his lips every time he moved.

The nurse was still standing there when I looked up, her eyes filled with a peculiar kind of sadness. I gave her a thin lipped smile which she returned after a long moment, looking at bit lost in the half light from the doorway. I wondered then how many other Louis and Harrys she’d seen, how many other people she’d watched hold onto each other even as one of them was slipping away. I wondered if she was remembering them now, how they’d looked at each other, how they’d looked once one half of them was gone. 

It was oddly comforting to know that she’d probably remember us too, that one day after we were long gone and our names had slipped from her mind she’d watch some other couple huddle on a hospital bed and remember this morning for just a moment. She’d look at them and think of how much we loved each other, one bead on a string of people who’d slipped away.

“Thankyou.” I murmured, staring up at her from my place at Harry’s side. For helping him, for remembering us.

She nodded. “Take care of him.”

I returned the nod. _I will._

She turned to leave, that peculiar sadness still hanging heavy in her eyes.

xx

It took Harry nearly twenty minutes to come back to me. By that time, the sky outside was infinitesimally lighter than when I’d first woken up and the hospital was beginning to lose the cloudy stillness of nighttime, slowly coming to life around us.

It was a slow process, but he finally emerged from his pain induced fog, blinking up at me with hooded green eyes. “Sorry about that.” He murmured in his sleepy morning voice, low and gravelly, the words sliding together a bit.

“It’s okay.” I kissed him quickly on the forehead. “Think we should go get cleaned up?”

He nodded, sliding reluctantly out of bed with a sigh. “As long as we can nap again after.”

“Don’t look so reluctant, I’m going to think you don’t want to see me naked.” I teased, stretching my arms high above my head. 

“Well we both know that isn’t true.” He replied, shooting me a tired smile as he pulled his shirt over his head with weary arms, crossing onto the bathroom tile. I followed him, depositing my kit on the floor, pulling the door closed with a snick and popping the lock. 

Harry leaned over to get the tap and I admired the long line of his body, beautiful and pale in the florescent lighting. He was thinner than I remembered, each rib visible in his chest like strange wings pressed under his skin. I came up behind him, pressing two fingers down the knobs of his spine, drawing the line where they stuck out.

I moved away from him, pulling back the shower curtain and stepping into the warm spray, the hot water cleansing my skin and heating me to my bones. 

Harry slid in a moment later, pulling the curtain completely closed behind us, a shy kind of smile pulling across his face. “The water alright?” 

I returned it in kind, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “A bit hot, but good.”

The shower was small, leaving us no more than four feet to stand in, barely enough spray to cover us. It was intimate in a way porcelain and tile shouldn’t be, the shadow cast by the screen muting the light, the steam from the spray seeping into my pores. 

We bumped elbows and knees as the water cascaded down our thinning bodies, passing soap bubbles between our hands. I ran my fingers across the hard line of his hipbone, the water making my finger slip across his skin. 

I looked up to meet his eyes, resisting the urge to bite against his lips. “Do you want me to?”

His smile was soft, not quite a dare, but something that bordered heavily on invitation. “If you’d like.”

I hesitated, ducking my head so my forehead was pressed to his collarbone then taking his cock in my hand, giving a few quick strokes to get him hard. He sighed at the motion, the hand on my hip curling in so his dull nails dug tiny ridges into my skin.

I worked to get a rhythm going, quick twists of my wrist and the slow running of my fingers up and downwards again. It wasn’t all that skilled, especially as my technique was getting ten different kinds of messed up by the way his breathing hitched and caught in my ear, tiny noises of approval escaping his lips with every movement.

I let out a flustered kind of sigh, moving to get down on my knees and ignoring my own growing erection. Normally I enjoyed Harry being stupidly hot, but right now it was making things more than a little difficult. He stopped me before I got my knees to the ground, pulling me back up with strong arms. “Stay like this.”

“But-” 

He cut my protest off with a kiss. When spoke his voice a moment later, his voice was just a little rougher than normal, pupils blown the slightest bit. “I like holding you.”

“I like that too.” I ghosted my fingers across his head, smiled smugly against his chin as he gasped, rocking himself into my touch. 

“C’mon.” He murmured against my ear, lips wet with the water, hands needy as they worked over my back. 

I laughed into his slippery skin, working to finish what I’d started and reveling in the way his hips canted into my hands like he couldn’t help himself, the way he curved his body around mine like he wanted to surround me, cover me with his skin.

It was almost better than the first time, when I barely knew how to kiss him, hadn’t memorized the way he breath started and stopped again. I felt his hand as it curled down my chest, coming to rest on my cock, working me over slowly as my thoughts bled together, dissolving in the water beating down on our heads.

He came not long before I did, soft curses pushing me over the edge after him, our bodies bumping against each other as we fell against each other, knees weak and breath short.

He ran his lips down my neck, pressing careful kisses to the line of my collarbone as I held tight to his waist, sucking precious oxygen back into my lungs. 

“I’m glad I met you.” He whispered, bringing his head up so our eyes met, glassy green and sparkling warm with the smallest bit of mischief.

“I bet you say that to everyone who gets you off in the shower.” I teased, resting our foreheads together as I went in for another kiss. I could do this forever, until we grew gills or our bodies dissipated in the water itself. 

He laughed against my mouth, water dripping down the crook of his nose and past my lips. “I do.”

Chapter 21

April 7th - Day 80

We sat in the hospital lounge, watching families trundle in and out through the big double doors, cups of hot chocolate heating our fingers. It was warm, especially for England, sunlight streaking through stubborn clouds and the breeze holding the smallest hint of spring. We’d briefly debated attempting a trip to the park, but I could still feel the dull ache of chemo stuck in my bones, so we settled for basking in the breeze that occasionally threaded it’s way through the double doors. Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure we’d be able to get ourselves there and back in one piece.

Harry was reading some pamphlet he’d picked up from a rack beside us, cheeks flushed a soft pink, gray beanie low on his forehead, white scarf looped twice around his neck. “Did you know that smoking is the leading cause of lung cancer?”

I took a sip of my cocoa, propping my feet up on the end table. “Someone should probably tell Zayn.”

Harry nodded, a faint exasperation falling over his features. “Asshole gets a friend with brain cancer and he still thinks he’s invincible.”

I smiled at his tone. “What a douchebag.”

“I don’t even know why we put up with him.” He agreed, tossing the pamphlet on the table and throwing his feet up next to mine. “If you’re not Augustus Waters, I don’t think you should have a cigarette anywhere near your mouth.”

I nodded. “Cigarettes for metaphorical purposes only, I completely agree.”

We fell into silence, Harry reached for another paper as I leaned back for a long breath of air, annoyed by the increasing amount of discomfort I seemed to be finding myself in with every inhale. It didn’t seem like the chemo was helping at all, only making me feel disgusting and extra tired twice a month. 

Harry’s voice broke me from my reverie. “It’s the seventh, isn’t it?”

I looked up. “Hmm?”

He bit at his lip. “Is it the seventh?”

I dug my phone out of my pocket, bringing up the calendar and running my eyes over the dates. “Yep. Why?”

He looked down, a sad quirk to his mouth. “I guess we’re down to three months then.”

“Already?” I asked, wondering how so much time had slipped so quickly through my fingers. This was our halfway point, the tipping point on the scale, when the time we’d had became more than the time we had left.

“Already.” He nodded, reaching out take my fingers, though I couldn’t quite tell who the gesture was supposed to comfort. 

“Oh.” I said, for lack of any better words.

He nodded. “Oh.”

April 10th - Day 83

I was aware, exclusively, of pain. It took over my entire body, some rolling fire that punched deep in my chest and seemed to rip at my organs, making every breath feel like I was breathing in boiling water. I was used to casual pain, the kind that stuck in my bones and rolled around in my muscles, but this was so much worse than that, tugging my entire body apart and making me impervious to everything else.

I was vaguely aware of my sheets and hands pressed to my skin, but they were more like some kind of dream than any semblance of reality. In those moments, I’d never felt more alone. I was trapped in a bell jar, the world blocked out with thick yellowing glass, my whole life just some bad dream that followed me around like a ghost.

Later, I would describe it in Hazel’s words, compare it to the big bang in my chest, but I had lost all eloquence in that sharp burst of agony. Later, Liam would tell me that I was screaming, face streaking with tears as he called the ambulance and rode with me while they tried to protect me from my own body even as it tore me apart

Later, I would sit in Harry’s arms and let him be strong for me again, holding the life I had left close to my breast. He would kiss me softly on the forehead and stroke his hands across my skin, telling me I was going to be alright. 

I wouldn’t ever know who he was really trying to convince.

April 13th - Day 86

I woke up, ironically enough, on Friday the thirteenth. Waking up in the ICU is one of most disorienting, awful experiences you can have. Confusion comes first, stiff white cotton alien under your fingers, pale blue walls that are supposed to look friendly but just look clean. Then there’s the remembering, as you recall the affliction that got you there in the first place, pain still reverberating through your body as you try and account for all your limbs.

I was struck first with a dull ache in my chest, looking down to find a tube sticking absurdly out of my body like some macabre plastic limb. I reached tentatively upwards, feeling tubes that pressed into my mouth and looped around my head. I felt vaguely as if I should panic, but laying there it didn’t seem all too pressing, like maybe it was normal to have two needles in your arms and cannulas threaded every which way.

I heard a soft familiar cry from the other side of the room and attempted to sit up, finding myself firmly strapped to the bed. 

My mother’s voice lilted from the left, her face appearing in my field of vision. “Oh honey don’t try to move.” 

It seemed like a pretty sound suggestion, so I just smiled a bit around the tubing and gave a weak wave by way of greeting.

She slapped a hand over her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes at the movement. It sent a fresh ache to some intangible place in my chest, the need to pull her into a hug almost overwhelming. There was so much I wanted to say to her, to apologize for not visiting, to tell her it was going to be okay, to let her care for me in the way only mothers could.

She reached out, fingers brushing over the top of my head. “I was so worried when they called.” She murmured, a faint gleam of panic in her eyes, like it was killing her to see me like this. “I knew you said it had come back but I didn’t know...”

The truth was, she couldn’t have known. I hadn’t really told her how bad it was, making it seem like maybe everything was going to be okay. It was my own way of protecting her, just like Harry protected his own mother. 

“The girls are here, Liam and Danielle took them out to get lunch a few minutes ago.” She looked anxiously up at the door. “I don’t know when they’ll be back, maybe I should call them...”

I shook my head ever so slightly. I wanted to see them, but it would be too much right now, too many people with worry in their eyes. I could barely handle my mother, the way she kept darting her hands out to touch me, like she thought I was going to disappear.

I heard the door creak open, the pat of feet on the tile. “Louis, there’s a friend here to see you if you feel up to it. I know technically only family is allowed but...” It took me a moment to recognize the voice, my mind eventually falling on the dark haired nurse, whose name I somehow still didn’t know. “He said it’s okay if you don’t want to see him, and that he’ll be brave if you are.”

I gave her the best nod I could, my fingers itching to hold his, a fierce longing for him building in my bones. I probably looked awful, all dark circles around my eyes and sharp lines where my skin clung to my frame, but I couldn’t be bothered to care all that much. One of the best things about the relationship I had with Harry was that we’d already both seen each other at our most vulnerable, whether by choice or not. There was nothing left to hide anymore. 

It was, of course, not the ideal situation to introduce him to my mother, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I was going to be conscious and I really did want to see him. I could already feel tiredness weighing down on my bones, threatening to push me back under, and I knew it wouldn’t be long.

“I’ll go tell him, he’s going to be thrilled.” I could see her smile out of the corner of my eye as she turned back down the hallway, heading for the waiting room.

I caught my mother’s gaze as I looked back up at her, a fond smile curling across her face even as her eyes retained their earlier worry. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She murmured, stroking her hand across my forehead. “I love you so much, baby.”

 _I love you too._ I squeezed at the fingers she’d threaded in mine, trying to convey the meaning there. She nodded tearfully, seeming to understand what I couldn’t say.

I heard the telltale roll of wheels on hospital floor, the nurse’s feet on the floor as she returned with Harry in tow. My mother looked up at his entrance, wiping her eyes hurriedly with the back of her hand, smudging makeup down her cheeks.

“Hello.” She sniffled, trying a smile. “You’re one of Louis’ friends?”

He didn’t reply at first, but I soon felt the careful touch of his fingers against the line of my jaw, sliding down the tendons of my neck. “Yeah.” I tried to get a good look at him out of the corner of my eye, attempting to catch a slight flash of green or a brief glimpse of cotton. “I’m Harry.”

“Oh.” I heard the recognition in her voice as she put the pieces together, matching the face to the name I’d dropped over the phone, the person I was seeing, casually of course. “Oh.” As she evaluated the wheelchair, the way his bones stuck out underneath his tee shirt, the beanie on his head. She knew what cancer looked like, even though I hadn’t told her he was sick. “Okay.” As she watched the way he watched me, that familiar warmth and worry in his eyes that was something like love. “I’m Jay, Louis’ mom.”

He smiled, his fingers threading their way through mine. “I know. It’s nice to meet you.”

She tried for a smile, managing one that looked halfway decent. “Nice to meet you too.”

I smiled the best I could around the plastic, my eyes finally seeking out Harry. He looked nearly as bad as I must’ve, lips just a little bit chapped, purpling marks falling underneath his eyes, skin just the littlest bit dull. I gave him my best disapproving look, pulling my hand up from his to run my fingers across his cheek. _Have you slept at all?_

He rolled his eyes at my scrutiny, pulling my hand away from his face and re-clasping our fingers. “The waiting room does not make the most comfortable of beds.”

Not being able to berate him in that moment was easily one of the most difficult things I’d ever experienced. I tried my hand at looked displeased and judgmental, but judging by the laugh that escaped his lips, I didn’t think I was all that successful. “I worry, sleep was never really an option.”

I squeezed his hand, understanding once again just how lucky I was to have him. Laying here, hanging just a little bit too close to the edge, I felt strangely at peace, with Harry on one side and my mother on the other.

“So have the nurses told you much?” She asked, giving Harry a thin lipped smile. It really didn’t take much time around my mother to fully understand where I’d learned not to let the world beat me. She’d raised our entire family on a meager salary through two divorces, and done a damn good job if I did say so myself. I could detect the fragility in her voice, the worry that clouded her tone, but I had no doubt that she would pull everyone through this, no matter the outcome.

It was oddly comforting really, to know that the world would go on outside of my personal hell, that she would keep going to matter what end I met. I didn’t feel like Hazel, who wondered if maybe her mother wouldn’t be a mother anymore when she died. My mother would still be a mother, she’d be a mother to my sisters, to Harry, to anyone who needed one, and she’d always be a mother to me, even when I wasn’t around to be her son.

Harry shrugged his shoulders at her query. “A little. Kaya’s been bribing me with information in exchange for napping somewhere more suitable than the chairs.”

That got a tiny puff of laughter from my mum. “You seem like you really care about Lou.”

Harry nodded, his eyes finding our hands, a tiny pink flush spreading across his cheeks. “Yeah I- He’s really important to me.”

“I know.” She nodded, closing her eyes like she was fighting another wave of tears, biting her lip like she could physically keep them inside that way. 

Harry reached across me, taking her hand in his his, his eyes flicking down to mine. “Louis’ strong. He’s going to pull through.”

“I know he is. I know.”

They both fell silent then, clasping fingers as I slipped back out of the world.

Chapter 22

 

April 16th - Day 89

I slowly got better. At this point, better was a fairly relative term, but I could walk again, could breathe, could feel something other than pain. I was moved out of intensive care on Saturday, but it was a weekend of waking up periodically to find my loved ones by my bedside before I was actually released

It was like that song, the one where it says that love is watching someone die. I thought maybe that was true, perhaps even truer than the song intended. I was watching my mother die just as much as she was watching me die. Loving someone is sticking by their side, whether they have 3 months left or 300, watching them die and dying with them, giving them permission to hurt you when they leave.

In a strange way, love is opening yourself up to pain. Handing someone your precious heart and trusting them not to hurt you, to cradle your beating flesh just like you’d cradle theirs. It’s accepting that when they leave, they sometimes forget to give your heart back first.

At least with Harry, I’d be able to keep his heart, even after he disappeared with mine.

April 17th - Day 90

Harry and I had managed to synch up our chemo schedules, which was how we ended up spending our rainy Tuesday watching the same bad television on our respective televisions. Since I was still feeling like crap, even with the fancy new oxygen tank I’d acquired from my near brush with death, there was no way I could make it to the hospital. Harry remained as immobile as always, so we settled for holding each other through the phonelines. 

It was no romantic dinner date, but there was something lovely about just sitting on my old ratty couch and listening to him make idle comments on whether or not the bride in question should in fact say yes to the dress. There was very little joy in inhabiting a body that resembled an achy sack of potatoes, but there was a little bit of comfort in doing it with something else.

“So how’s that oxygen tank doing?” He asked me during a commercial break. “Have you named it yet?”

I smiled down at the light green tank, sitting on the floor on its little rolley cart. I hadn’t thought to name it, but I supposed there was no harm in doing so. “I haven’t.”

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “I don’t even know why I date you, you uncreative heathen.”

“You’re the one who once told me he wanted a star tattoo. That is easily top ten on the list of things people get when they don’t have imaginations but still want a tattoo.” I teased, wrapping Liam’s flannel shirt tighter around me and fending off a wave of nausea. It was such a killer, I was completely starving, but any time I looked at food my stomach tried to fight its way out of my body. 

He made a soft affronted sound that made me fight a giggle. “Or maybe they get them because they look really cool.”

I smiled into the receiver. “You would look pretty cool with a star on your forehead.”

“That is certainly not where I wanted it.” He replied, sounding just the little bit petulant. “And now you’re changing the subject! I still want to know what you’re going to name your oxygen tank.”

I snorted. “You’re so pushy, why don’t you name it?”

“Maybe I will. How’s King Louis XVI of France?” 

“King Louis XVI got beheaded. I don’t want my oxygen tank to get beheaded, Haz. That would be very unfortunate for all involved.” I replied, rolling my eyes at him though the gesture was lost over the phone.

“But we could make it a cute little crown!” He enthused as I adjusted the tiny little nubbins in my nose. I still wasn’t used to the plastic, though the doctor had said it would feel like a part of my body soon enough. 

“You’re such a loser, where do you even come up with these things?” I asked, though if I was honest, his dorkiness was something I quite liked about him.

“What about an oxygen tank named desire?” 

“I’m not calling my oxygen tank desire.” I replied flatly. “That’s stupid.”

His tone immediately took a turn for scandalized. “It’s a movie reference! God Louis, how do you even get yourself through the day!”

I cackled, the movement morphing into a coughing fit that wracked my ravaged lungs. I finally managed to get my breath back, cuddling deep in the folds of the couch for comfort, my voice just a little bit hoarser when I finally was able to speak. “If I end up laughing my organs onto the floor I’m blaming you.”

“Well don’t do that, I don’t think Liam would appreciate cleaning you off the carpet.” 

“I certainly wouldn’t appreciate cleaning me off the carpet.” I replied, bringing my legs up to my chest. “What about the Dutch Tulip Man?”

“Hmm?”

“For my oxygen tank?” I prompted.

“But we never figure out if he’s a crook or not.” Harry protested. “You can’t name what’s keeping you alive after what might be a lie!”

A half smile found its way across my face. One of my favorite things about Harry was that he unabashedly liked the entire world, that he cared about stuff that no one really needed to care about, like stupid star tattoos and naming oxygen tanks. He was passionate, excitable, and too big for his own skin. 

“But then, it isn’t always the truth that keeps you alive is it? It’s hope.”

“Well then you could call it hope.” He suggested.

“That’s so cheesy I want to cry.” I replied, though I had to admit I liked it, in the way you like trashy romance novels or bad pop music; it’s kind of bad, but in a good way.

“Well you’re the one who suggested it with your deep-ass comments about truth.” He replied, and I could practically hear the smile working its way across his face, the crinkling at the edges of his eyes.

I fought down a laugh, remembering how well that had worked last time.

“And that way you can always carry a little bit of hope with you.” He added. “I mean, if we’re going to be symbolic and stupid about it.”

I smiled, that familiar fond feeling winding itself around inside my chest. “Of course we’re going to be symbolic and stupid about it.”

He laughed. “Good. Now be quiet, I want to know which dress she’s going to pick.”

I hummed my assent, wrapping my blanket tighter around my shoulders and falling into the soft rhythm of Harry’s breathing and the buzz of the television, Hope sitting by my side.

April 18th - Day 91

I slept away most of my Wednesday. The girls and my mum had left the day before, and though I missed them, I was glad for a little bit of quiet.

Danielle woke me up briefly around noon with a protein shake, ushering me to my bedroom and tucking me in with careful hands. Sometimes I worried how Liam would fare when I was gone, but watching Danielle I felt just a little bit better. She’d probably move in, they’d get married, have a family. She’d take care of him when I couldn’t.

I managed to keep my meager lunch down, only waking up to send a few quick texts to Harry around three.

Louis 3:02

Miss you.  
Harry 3:04

Miss you too. See you tomorrow, yeah?  
Louis 3:04

I’ll be there as soon as I wake up.  
Harry 3:04

Okay. xx  
Louis 3:05

Okay xx  
I spent the rest of the day in my bed, fucking around on the internet for an hour or two before passing out for the night.

If I’d had any idea what was going to happen on the coming Thursday, I think I would have at least attempted to stay awake just a little bit longer, to savor the last moments where everything still teetered on the edge of okay. 

April 19th - Day 92

All I was able to think in the hours after the call was _I should have been there_ like a guilty record on loop inside my mind. I hadn’t been awake when my phone started ringing, groggily fumbling for it as the electronic tone wormed its way into my exhausted brain, answering with a sandpaper mouth.

The minutes after were a blur of panic and unease that made a home in the pit of my stomach as I tried to find clothes suitable for leaving the house. I ended up in what was nearest to my bed, forgetting my beanie in a rush to get out the door.

Zayn told me that he’d text me updates but we remained in radio silence the entire train ride, reducing me to staring at the blank screen of my phone, my mantra playing through my head. _I should have been there. He needed you and you weren’t there._

It was close to seven thirty by the time I got to the hospital, Zayn waiting for me by the doors with a cigarette in his mouth and nerves drawing creases in his forehead. He stubbed the butt out in an ashtray when he saw me and I let him crush me into a hug. Zayn was not someone I would have immediately pegged as a hugger, but he seemed to appreciate burying your face in someone’s shoulder, the merit of letting someone else hold you up for a little while.

He gave me one of those smiles that was trying really hard to be genuine, but just fell a little flat. “He’s going to be alright for now.”

I nodded, giving him one back. There was something inherently comforting about Zayn, a tangible breathing link to Harry, and seeing him made me feel a little bit better. “Why didn’t you text me?”

He held up his hand, fingers trembling just a little bit. “Can’t get my hands to stop shaking. Plus, I mean... you know.”

Part of me did. He needed to tell me himself, needed me to hear his inflection and see his eyes, it wasn’t something you could send in 1s and 0s. We had to hold onto the last bits of Harry together, and that was okay. 

“Where’s Niall?” I asked as we headed back in, Zayn leading me to the little hospital coffee shop.

“Mullingar. Went home to visit his mum on Monday and I haven’t the heart to call him yet.”

I nodded, ordering myself a coffee. “I understand.” We wandered to the pickup window. “So what exactly happened?”

Zayn shrugged, eyes finding the floor. “I don’t exactly know. Basically, he had a seizure, fell, and it’s kindof bad.”

“We don’t know how bad yet?” I asked, resisting the urge to curl in on myself. 

He shook his head. “They don’t know how badly his cognitive functions have been damaged. The fall screwed him up a bit but they’re mostly worried about the seizure.”

I shook the images out of my head, vague snatches of blood and green eyes. “This is so fucked up.”

Zayn shrugged, grabbing his coffee from the counter. “That it is, Louis. That it is.”

xx

I spent most of the day in the hospital with Zayn. He was really a quiet person when he wanted to be, and I was thankful for it. He didn’t feel the need to fill the air with small talk, we just sat, sometimes in the waiting room of the ICU, sometimes on Harry’s bed, sometimes out on the concrete sidewalk as we indulged Zayn's smoking habit. 

It was a slow day, filled with nervous tapping and rushed cigarette breaks as we waited for some kind of news to pull us out of this purgatory. It was eight thirty before we heard anything, a text coming in on Zayn’s phone while we sat in the lounge Harry and I had occupied not a week earlier, drinking our third round of coffee.

Harry 8:31

Still breathing. (:  
We hurried up to Harry’s room, greeting him the low orange light of his bedside lamp. Kaya, the dark haired nurse who seemed to have a strong fondness for Harry, was standing at his bedside, adjusting the IV in his arm. She smiled when we came in, scrawling a quick note on her clipboard. “I was wondering when you’d show up. You’ll be pleased to here he’s stable. We’ve upped his meds and we’re going to be running some mental tests, but he seems to be all there. Or least as much as you ever are.” She added, shooting him a look.

“I’m peachy.” A lazy grin stretched across his face, dimples deep in his cheeks, bringing a smile to my own face. I knew it was at least partly because of the medication, it always made him a little loopy, but I was learning to treasure any smiles I could get.

“How’re you feeling, Haz?” Zayn asked, giving him a fond grin and sitting down next to him on the comforter. He looked alright, or at least alright for someone who’d taken a rather spectacular tumble and suffered possible brain damage. There was a big white bandage stretched across his forehead and a bit of bruising creeping down towards his eyes, but he had a sparkle in his gaze that made my chest just a little bit lighter.

“A bit wobbly.” He wiggled his fingers, bugging his eyes out. “Morphiiiinneeee.”

I laughed, pulling my chair close to his bed and plopping down inside it. “I was so worried about you this morning, you have no idea.”

His eyes flicked over to mine, a brief flicker of unidentifiable emotion passing through them. It was tiny, just a flash of something a little bit like fear that blinked through his gaze before I could completely process it. He reached for my hand, squeezing it with perhaps a bit of unnecessary force, a smile plastering itself across his face, his expression just this side of frantic. “I’m alright. You don’t have to worry about me.”

I tried to smile back, wondering why I felt so suddenly ill at ease. I snuck a look over at Zayn to see if he’d picked up on it, but he showed no signs of any discomfort. “I can’t help it, you know that.”

He nodded, an almost forced cheerfulness in his expression. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Not to interrupt, but he really needs to sleep.” Kaya interjected from the doorway. “You can stay of course, but it’d probably be best if you got some rest.” She smiled over at me. “You two as well, I see those bags under your eyes.”

It was probably fairly telling that one of Harry’s nurses had noticed how shit I looked, but I wasn’t quite sure what exactly it was telling of. Probably nothing good. 

Zayn was the first to move, tapping Harry’s blanketed knee as he stood. “Take care of yourself, I’ve got class tomorrow, but I’ll see you in the evening alright?”

Harry nodded, his former bright attitude falling a bit with drooping eyelashes. “I will.”

Zayn lingered in the door. “Sweet dreams.”

Harry tugged the sides of his mouth into a smile. “Sweet dreams, Zayn.”

I moved to follow the dark haired boy, a yawn stretching my face, a sleepy goodbye on my lips. It’d been a long stressful day and I wanted nothing more than to curl up in my blankets and to sleep for days. 

Harry reached out, wrapping his fingers clumsily around my wrist. There was something a little off about his movements, I noticed, like he wasn’t exactly sure where all his limbs were. “Stay.”

I looked down at him, the bandage wrapped around his head, the pleading in his eyes. “Please.”

I nodded, sliding myself onto his bed and under the covers next to him, curling my body around his frame. He was losing weight just like I was, our bones knocking around in empty frames, hard and unforgiving. I wondered morbidly if maybe we wouldn’t stop breathing, but instead dissolve completely into skeletons, just veins, blood and bones.

“Don’t leave me, alright?” He said softly, taking my hand in his, careful not to upset the IV in his arm.

“I won’t. I promised, remember?”

He nodded, settling down into his pillows. “Goodnight Louis.” A pause, then even softer. “I love you.”

“I love you back.” I murmured into his shoulder as I closed my eyes, waiting for the sleep that had been creeping up all day to devour me. Unfortunately, rest seemed determined to evade my grasp and it was close to an hour before I fell asleep, long after Harry’s light snoring had filled the air.

Even as the room grew darker around me, I couldn’t seem to get that instant out of my head, the change in his eyes that made my whole body tight with dread for a reason I couldn’t seem to find.

I didn’t know it yet, but it was the first time he’d forgotten me.

Chapter 23

April 21st - Day 93

The first thing I heard when I reached Harry’s room were voices, raised just past the point of civility. I paused to listen by the door, not wanting to head in, afraid of what I’d find inside. I didn’t recognize the speaker, tremulous female tones that leaked out into the hallway. I held my ear as close to the doorframe as I could, trying to catch pieces of the conversation.

“It was nothing. I’m fine, I’m really fine!” I could hear the desperation in Harry’s voice, a bit rough like he was sliding apart. My insides twisted up, hating how broken he sounded, hating that I could make it better.

“But what if you hadn’t been alright?” There was a pause and then something I couldn’t catch.

“I just didn’t want you to have to come all the way down to London for nothing.” He replied, and I could practically see the expression on his face, the way he’d crumple ever so slightly.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t be in London! Maybe you should come home where you belong!” The speaker’s voice rose back to an understandable volume, her identity suddenly becoming clear. Harry’s mother had never been something we talked about all that much, a mysterious presence that hovered on the edge of our consciousness but was never brought up. I always had the impression that Harry loved and cared about her, but I hadn’t once seen her in the months since I’d known him. 

“I don’t want to go home. You can’t make me go home. Robin works in insurance. They pay for it and I don’t want to go.” There was a franticness there, quick sentences that crumbled in the middle and came back together like puzzle pieces that fit but didn’t make the right picture.

There were softer words then, muffled and a little bit pleading. 

“No, Mom.” Just loud enough for me to pick it out. “That house reminds me of dying.”

Which seemed like a funny thing to say when the place he was comparing it to was a hospital.

“I just don’t know what to do with you anymore, Harry.” Softer, like an admission of guilt. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay.” A soft rustling of covers like he was reaching for her, or maybe like she was sitting down. I wished I could peek inside and see, to hold his hand while he did this, but then, Harry was always stronger than either of us gave him credit for. He would be okay.

“I know. I just know one day you’re going to be gone and I’m going to wish I’d had you just a little bit longer.”

“You’ll always have me, mum.” He replied, and I felt a sudden soaring sense of loss for reasons I couldn’t quite put into words. I thought of my own mother, the way she’d look at me like I was something fragile when she thought I couldn’t see. How losing me was literally losing a part of her. 

Losing a child isn’t ever really beautiful or poignant. It’s cruel in the way the world should never be.

The conversation had dropped to murmurs and I stepped back from the door, heading slowly down the hallway, the low rolling noise of my oxygen tank following me down the tile.

This morning, he needed her much more than he needed me.

April 22nd - Day 94

Harry 11:16 AM

Missed you yesterday.  
Louis 11:17 AM

I visited, but then I remembered I’m not the only one who loves you.  
Harry 11:17 AM

You should have come, it would’ve been nice to have you.  
Louis 11:18 AM

Care to explain why your own house reminds you more of death that a hospital?  
He took his time responding, giving me enough time to force down some breakfast. I still stood by my decision to leave Harry and his mom to try and work out whatever had gone so lopsided in their relationship. Not to mention it had given me an opportunity to talk to my own mother, which I think made both of us feel a little better.

Harry 11:24 AM

Come over.  
Louis 11:24 AM

Okay xx  
Harry 11:24 AM

Okay xx  
xx

Harry was curled up in his covers when I came in, looking just this side of miserable, beanie pulled low so his eyes were nearly obscured. He reached a hand out to me when I came in, wiggling his fingers for me to take. There was something soft in the atmosphere, a delirious peace that made me want nothing more than to curl up next to his body and hold him close to me, to breathe what was left of our lives into the hollows between each other’s bones.

I slipped off my bag and my shoes, fumbling a little bit with my oxygen tank and tubes as I pulled up the covers and slid underneath them, letting his fingers wrap around my waist and pull us closer. 

“Hey.” I murmured against his neck, the warmth of the blankets seeping into my skin and wrapping me up in comfort.

“I feel sad today.” He said softly, adjusting so our bodies fit together. “That’s why I hate seeing her. It makes me feel like I’ve got a black hole in the middle of my stomach, like it’s sucking everything I have inside.”

I kissed the skin nearest to my lips, murmuring my reply against his neck. “We can be sad together.” It was more an assurance than anything.

He nodded ever so slightly. “I just want her to understand, but she can’t. She can’t understand anymore. She thinks she can, but I don’t think she’s going to believe that I’m really truly dying until I’m really truly dead.”

I hummed underneath my breath. “I don’t know, from the little I heard, it sounded like she understood, or at least wanted to. She just wants to make sure you’re happy, Haz.”

“No, she just wants me a little bit longer, my happiness is no part of it.” I didn’t miss the bitterness in his words, cutting and unbearably sad.

I thought about pressing him for details, making him explain, but I was pretty sure it all circled back to buying more time, like it was some commodity you could always get more of. Like it wasn’t always meant to run out.

“Why does your house remind you of dying?” I asked instead, a question that wasn’t really easier, but one that bothered me in a way I wasn’t going to be able to let go of.

He didn’t respond at first, running his fingers in patterns over my arm, tracing up underneath the cotton of my tee shirt, tapping rhythms on my skin. “After I got diagnosed, things got kinda bad. I forgot-” His thoughts seemed to stutter, like he couldn’t figure out how to line them up, put them in order. “You remember. I forgot what it was like to live but my body wouldn’t let me die yet.”

I nodded, I knew this story. “I’m so sorry.”

He nodded. “And now every room is a reminder of that, like its got my weakness hiding in the walls waiting to swallow me up again. The whole place reeks of sickness.”

“I know.” I kissed him him softly, wordless comfort in the only way I could give it. Sometimes I wished we could hook up our hearts so I could pump love into his body instead of pressing it to his skin.

“And she doesn’t understand, she thinks its unhealthy to stay here, that staying in a hospital would somehow be worse for me. But the hospital doesn’t remind me of death at all. They save lives here.” He paused, reaching down to take my hand, long fingers pressing between mine and holding me tight. 

“You’re never really alone.” He continued. “It’s like you’re part of some living breathing organism that’s trying its best to take care of you.” 

I smiled. “I like that.” 

He nodded. “It never really stops here, even at night. My house was the worst at night, when all the lights were off and everything was silent. It felt so empty.”

“But it never really sleeps here.” I agreed, thinking of the muted quiet of morning, when nurses tread softly on the tile, a dull murmur of activity thrumming throughout the night.

“Its comforting somehow.” He paused, a tiny smile creeping across his face, barely there but lovely all the same. “Besides, it reminds me of you here.”

I kissed him quickly on the lips. “Everything reminds me of you.”

April 23rd - Day 95

It was nearly two in the afternoon by the time I got to his hospital room, Hope rolling resolutely behind me on the tile floor, clicking every time her wheels hit a crack. Harry was laying on his back, arms tucked over the comforter, eyes wide and focused on the ceiling. 

I knocked gently on the doorframe, surveying him with more than a little curiosity. Usually he employed the ‘curl up and hide’ method of dealing with headaches, but I couldn’t think of any other reason he’d have for staring up at the plaster like it held some sort of secret.

“What are you doing, Haz?” I asked from the doorway, discarding my jean jacket and bag on the ground as per usual.

His face tilted my way, green eyes finding my face first, flicking quickly down my body and stalling on the place where my oxygen tank sat by my feet, jerking up to where my tee shirt exposed my prominent collar bones and then finally back to my eyes like he was checking to make sure I hadn’t lost any body parts since I’d last seen him. “Not sure. Something feels off today.”

I moved to sit in my chair, studying him bemusedly. His bandages had just been removed, the angry pink line of stitches stretching across his forehead only partially covered by his hat, the last physical signs of his fall slowly beginning to fade. “Anything in particular?” I asked, throwing my feet up on the comforter next to him.

He made a wiggly shrugging movement. “I don’t know. I just feel like there’s something I should know that I don’t.” He bit his lip, looking temporarily embarrassed. “Sorry, I don’t normally do this sort of thing, you just seem weirdly familiar.”

I started to reply, only to find the words stuck in my throat. I’d known it was coming, I’d known and yet nothing could have prepared me for what it would feel like to look at him and know that he had no idea who he was. To him, I’d never existed, just some vague memory he knew he should have but didn’t.

It would probably be better for him if he could forget, if he could take the happiness I’d given him and leave the sadness behind, but I wasn’t sure I could handle a life where Harry didn’t know who I was. The thing about memories is that they don’t just depend on one person, they belong to the collective consciousness of those who’d lived them, and now they only belonged to me.

It was only the sound of Harry’s voice that pulled me out of my internal horror, soft and laced with concern. “You alright mate?”

I nodded hurriedly, trying to smile for him. “Yeah, sorry. Got a bit distracted.” I pulled my feet slowly off his bed, crossing them underneath me. “I’m Louis.”

He paused, and for a moment I thought he was going to snap out of it, that by some miracle he’d remember who I was. But then the moment passed and I was back to staring at his smiling face. “Nice to meet you, I’m Harry.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He smile faded a few watts, like he was finally beginning to notice the aura of wrong that seemed to penetrate the air. “So uh, are you a nurse or what?”

I shook my head, scrounging around in my head for a lie. No matter how much it hurt to sit here, I knew I couldn’t leave. I’d promised Harry I wouldn’t and I wasn’t going to break that promise to him. “No, I’m here to read to you.” I gave him my best smile. “It’s some program the hospital’s doing.” It was a tissue paper lie, fragile and flimsy as it slipped from my lips, but I couldn’t think of anything better.

He seemed to know somewhere that it wasn’t true, something in the slight tilt to his eyebrows and curve of his mouth but he just let out a soft laugh, eyes going the littlest bit warm. I held my breath, not entirely sure what I was hoping for. _Let me leave don’t make me go._

“They know I’m not eight, don’t they?”

I forced out a laugh. “Evidently not. I mean, I can leave if you have other things to do.” _Please don’t make me leave. Please._

He shook his head, adopting a lopsided grin as he sat up, leaning against his headboard and crossing his legs. “It’s fine.” He looked around, eyes falling on the light blue copy of The Fault In Ours Stars laying on his bedside. “Here, you can read me that.”

I reached for the book, knowing somewhere in the back of my mind that maybe I’d done this on purpose, even as my fingers pricked with revulsion. I didn’t want to read our book to this Harry, I wanted to whisper it to my Harry and have him whisper it back. I could see it in his eyes, the recognition he didn’t understand as he watched me open up the novel, his handwriting scrawled across the pages.

My fingers brushed across the inscription on the inside cover, _Property of Louis and Harry_ in light blue hand. But it wasn’t ours, it was the other Harry’s and I had no idea when I’d get him back. The funny thing about a person is that they’re the sum of their experiences, running through the world covered in glue and waiting for the world to stick to them. I could still see the pieces I’d given to him lingering on the edges, but parts of him were missing - his hair falling to the bathroom floor, our legs entangled in his sheets, our bodies entangled in mine - and he wasn’t the same without them. And so he wasn’t my Harry, not really.

I cleared my throat, beginning at chapter 1 all over again, a feeling of hopelessness making a home in my chest. The words flowed softly off my tongue as I snuck glances up at him, noticing the way his sadness crept into his gaze like cats skulking out in the night.

“I like her.” He interrupted in a small voice, looking surprised, like he hadn’t meant to let the words slip out. 

I nodded, clutching the cover like a lifeline. “I know.” The worst part was that I could still see him, some strange amalgam of the boy I loved and the boy I’d met that very first day, sick and so very alone. 

He gave me a smile, one that faded a little at the fringes. I could feel his concern, the way he leaned towards me just a little, questions on the edge of his lips. But he didn’t ask them, because he wasn’t my Harry. 

I continued to read, feeling my body slowly deflate with every sentence. I knew I couldn’t do this much longer, hold my voice steady and keep my body from falling apart. It felt that way, like my limbs were one wrong move from detaching from my body, leaving me bleeding on the tile.

It seemed we were forever sitting on either sides of a door, our hands barely brushing underneath, whispering things neither of us could really hear through the wood. But there was no way through really, so I kept reading, hoping that he would come back to me.

I’d reached chapter three before I heard the short intake of breath, the exhale that sounded a little bit like a curse. I didn’t dare look up at him, keeping my eyes glued to the place where the pages met, biting my bottom lip so I could focus on that pain.

“Oh Louis.” His voice was soft, breakable as it reached out to me, cradling like an apology. “I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

I nodded, squeezing my eyes shut, emotions almost overwhelming. It was too much, watching him drift in and out and with no idea as to how long he’d stay with me. “I know.”

I heard the soft rustle of sheets and felt a hand run gently down my cheek, another pulling the book from my fingers. I heard his feet hit the floor for a moment and then the pressure of him settling into my lap, knees pressing against the chair back, hands cupping my face.

I let my eyes flutter open, finding his eyes incredibly close to mine, noses nearly brushing. “I didn’t leave you.” I said softly, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my hands on the small of his back. 

He nodded, kissing me quickly on the mouth, careful not to jostle the tubes that fed precious oxygen into my body. “I’m sorry I left you.”

I gave him a quick kiss of my own. “I missed you.”

He nodded, sharp pain in his eyes that was worse than any apology. It was awful for me to have to watch him slip away, but it was awful for him too, to hold such a fragile brain inside his head, for his memories to slide around and fall through the cracks, spotted and faded like old polaroids, lost to time and the bottom of dusty photoboxes.

“I’m not going to leave you again.” He promised in a whisper, a fierce sort of determination in his eyes. “I’m not going to let myself forget you.”

“I know.” I replied, as if by some miracle we could hold onto each other forever. “I know you won’t.”

He nodded, pressing our bodies close, burying his head in my shoulder. “I won’t.”

And so we held each other, our tissue paper promises wrapping us in crinkling pinks and blues, fragile but somehow adequate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have the end up next saturday, I just want to get this done since I've been so crap about posting it on here. But honestly, thankyou all so much for your kudos and incredible comments, I love you all (:


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 24

April 28th - Day 100

He’d forgotten me twice more since Thursday, once for a fleeting moment that he thought I hadn’t noticed and another time for nearly the day. Maybe it should have gotten easier, but it only seemed to hurt a little more each time, the fear the he wouldn’t come back growing inside me like a different kind of tumor.

It had started to get cold in Harry’s room, especially in the mornings. They’d just started up the air conditioning for the Spring months and it gave the room an artificial chill that only served to make my skin even clammier than usual. We’d fallen asleep together the night before, something that was becoming a common occurrence as it became harder and harder for us to stay awake, tiredness growing into one of our most defining traits. It was nice in a sad sort of way, sleeping away our last months together, waking up with a familiar body tucked into my side. 

It was getting to be that my own bed felt almost empty, the twin sized frame too large for my thin bones, too cold for me to ever completely warm up. It became nearly routine, falling asleep beside him, waking up in his arms and trudging to the bathroom for a hot shower. The sleeping pills helped a little with the night sweats, but I didn’t think they’d ever truly go away, forever leaving a thin line of moisture at the nape of my neck, making my skin stick. 

He was usually awake when I returned, barely so, eyes bleary as he offered me a soft smile, opening the covers for me to crawl back in to. In the afternoon I’d go home for a few hours to get fresh clothes and catch up with Liam, but my world was narrowing, a sphere in which there was barely more than Harry and I, carrying on through the soft mornings and nights.

I’d just climbed back into his bed, my arms wrapped up in a hoodie I was pretty sure was Harry’s but might have been mine, when he rolled over to tangle me in his arms “Good morning.”

I smiled. “Good morning. Headache today?”

He shook his head. “Nothing unbearable.” A pause, and then. “You okay?”

I gave him a soft smile, letting my hand thread around his waist, running underneath his shirt so I could feel his skin under mine. “I’m okay.” I could feel the half lie swimming just underneath the surface. I’d learned after my most recent test that my body wasn’t responding all that well to the chemo, that they were going to put me on one of those clinical trials, things that, as Hazel said, were famous in the republic of cancervania for not working. I shook the thoughts from my head, instead changing the subject. “I’ve been thinking.”

He gave me an faintly amused smile. “Oh no.” 

I stuck the tip of my tongue out in response. “Be quiet, you.”

His little smile lost some of its mirth but none of its warmth. “So what were you thinking about?”

“You know how in The Fault In Our Stars they write each other obituaries?”

He nodded, wriggling a little bit in my arms, ever restless as usual. “Yeah?”

I gave him a a hopeful smile. “I think we should do that.”

He bit his lip, then nodded once. “Alright.”

I pecked him quickly on the lips. “We can make Zayn and Niall do it too.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

May 1st - Day 103

It had taken the better part of the two days for me to get my speech together. I was normally a decent writer, or at least an efficient one, but after confronting myself with a blank sheet of paper I found I couldn’t seem to figure out how to put my heart upon it. 

I wanted to thank him, to let him know how special he was, to tell him I loved him in every language I knew and ones I didn’t. After two long nights and mornings during which I scrawled and crossed out more words than I knew I had inside me, I was ready to rip my heart out of my chest and just use that instead, lay it on the paper and bleed out _this is how much I love you._

I wrote most of my note to him on the train. I refused to call it an obituary in my head, more of a love letter to the dying than any post-mortem speech of remembrance. I finished just as the train pulled into the last stop, my hands shaking as I wrote the final few lines.

When I got to Harry’s room, Niall and Zayn had already found their way onto the bed, Niall snuggled underneath the covers next to Harry, Zayn watching them fondly from the far edge. 

They all looked up at the telltale roll of my oxygen tank, and I gave a wave, sliding my messenger bag off my shoulder. It was the first time all year I’d been able to make it to Harry’s in only a tee shirt and sweatpants, jumpers and jackets discarded, at least for now in honor of the warming May air. 

“You’re late.” Harry informed me, a slight edge of petulance to his voice, offset only by the playful gleam in his eyes.

I flicked up eyes up to the clock. “Heavens, Harry, you’re right. I said 3:00 and it’s 3:02, how on Earth will you ever forgive me?”

He let out a soft laugh, eliciting an eyeroll from Zayn. “I don’t know, but cuddling with me would be a start.”

I smiled wide, crawling under the covers as Harry and Niall scooted over to give me more room. Zayn gave us an fond look from the foot of the bed, his letter folded up and resting in his hand.

“So are we going to do this here?” I asked, pulling the blanket up around my waist, leaning into Harry.

“Well I’m not moving.” Niall clarified, clutching the comforter to his chest. “No way, no how.”

Zayn rolled his eyes once more, continuing a routine of amused disapproval that would have been pretty effective if not for the smile tickling the corners of his mouth and the warmth in his gaze. “We can stay here. It’s comfortable.”

I nodded. “Well, who wants to go first?”

Niall’s hand shot up almost violently into the air. “I’ll go!”

Harry nodded. “Go for it Nialler, let’s hear how much you love me.”

Niall gave him a stern look as he dug his paper out of his pocket, unwrinkling it and holding it out. Harry peered over his shoulder at the writing, earning himself a smack on the arm as Niall crawled out of the covers and over to Zayn’s waiting arms. “No more cuddling for you, you nosy arse.”

Harry pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. I laughed and kissed him quickly on the cheek, pulling his body snug against mine.

Niall cleared his throat, smoothing the paper over his legs and leaning up against Zayn. “Okay. Here we go.”

“You were one of the first people I met when I moved here from Ireland. It was the second day of school and was really fucking lost. We rode the same bus to school, that’s how we met really, and I just remember seeing you in the hallway and running after you yelling your name, that fucking awkward Irish kid with white hair bobbing through older kids screaming about how I couldn’t find my fucking English class.”

He smiled over at Harry then, his blue eyes holding a nostalgic gleam. I wondered what Harry would have been like back then. Softer probably, no sharp bones or cutting jawlines. I imagined he’d always had his curls, dimples and glassy green eyes, wide and lovely.

“You know I’m crap at emotional shit but I’m going to try my best for you right now, because this is kindof a goodbye letter, right? And I’m not going to say goodbye without telling you what a fucking great mate you’ve been.” He snuck another glance, and I could almost see the way his composure was fading, blithe and cheerful aura falling a bit. 

“We used to have a lot of fun together, you, Zayn, Me, and Cher. We were so good, really really fucking good, you know? And I mean, its not like I’m never going to find anything good again, there are plenty of good things in the world, but there’s never going to be another Zayn Harry Cher Niall kind of good thing, not ever.”

“I mean you could be a right twat sometimes, all stubborn and shit, and you never shut up about that one time you nearly fucked your art teacher, which, by the way, you totally didn’t, but you’re still one of the best mates I’ve ever had.”

“I already miss you, you know.” He shrugged, eyes focused squarely on the paper he clutched in his hands, letting Zayn rest a comforting hand on his leg. “And I don’t know how to not miss you, but I’m trying, because I don’t want to miss you my entire life.” He bit his lip to stop it from quivering. “But I think some part of me is going to.”

“I guess there really isn’t much more to say.” He continued matter of factly, sniffing a little bit after the last syllable. “I just want you to know that when I look back on my life, all the best parts are going to be the things I did with you.”

“I guess in the end good just reminds me of us, of watching sunrises on your roof, of waking up in Cher’s basement half hungover, of feeling like it could actually last forever. It was just good.”

He wiped at his eyes, cursing his way through his tears. “It was so fucking good.”

The room had gone quiet by the end, the rasp of my breathing and Niall’s soft sniffing the only sound as he turned himself into Zayn’s chest, pressing his face into his shirt as the dark haired boy rubbed circles on his back.

xx

We took a little break after that, a somber weight settling over us like a fog as we left Harry to go pick up drinks from the coffee shop, shaking the sadness off our limbs as best we could. 

It was Zayn’s turn when we finally settled back in, Niall still red eyed and pink cheeked as he curled up at the foot of the bed with Zayn, head resting in his lap, body curled around his legs.

“Mine’s not really as good as Niall’s.” He began, running a fond hand through his boyfriend’s half blonde hair. “Our little poet may have outdone me on this one, but its the best I’ve got.”

Harry smiled beside me, his hand seeking mine out underneath the covers. “I’ll get stupidly emotional no matter what you write, Zayney.” He promised.

Zayn nodded. “Alright, here goes then.”

He took two nervous breaths before beginning, holding his notebook upright. “It took me a long time to figure out how to start this. Every time I thought of you it was like there were too many moments jumbled up inside of me and I couldn’t figure out where to put them all, how to give you how important you are to me.”

He looked up and I caught his eye, a flicker of understanding passing between us. “The thing about this is that I honestly don’t know how to tell you everything I want to tell you, and I don’t think I’ll ever really know how. There aren’t enough pages in the world to write it down or enough minutes to tell you.”

He wasn’t as soft as Niall, rosy and pale as he spilled his feelings out like a tipped paint can, colors cascading across the floor. Zayn was composed, quieter in his sorrow, sadness turning his skin to stone. “You’re a constant for me, permanent and solid like the world we’re standing on. To be honest, everything in my life traces back to us, every memory I have has imprints of you at the edges.”

He continued, blank faced, index finger running nervous trips up and down the spine of his notebook. “You’ve been here for me for as long as I remember. You were the first person to sign my cast when I broke my arm, the first person I came out to and the first boy I ever kissed.”

There was something private in his words, an intimacy in the way his voice dropped that made me feel almost like an intruder, an unwelcome observer of his misery. “I guess what I want to do is thank you for being there. I used to be so scared all the time, about failing, about who I wanted to love, about everything in the world, and you never were. You were never scared Harry, and you made me feel like I didn’t have to be scared either.”

“Sometimes I think about all the times you’ve been there for me,” He paused, pressing a hand to his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment, like he could stop the tears that way. “And I honestly don’t know what I’m going to be able to do without you.” He wrenched his hand away from his lips and grabbed Niall’s, squeezing until his knuckles tinged white. 

“I want everything to be okay for you, because you always made everything okay for me, but I guess that’s not the kind of thing you can just wish for. I guess my only real hope is that you aren’t afraid of going, afraid for us or of what you’ll find on the other side, because I promise I’m going to be there for you, just like you used to be there for me.”

“I think I’ve just come to terms with the fact that you’re never really going to be gone for me. You’ll be there when I feel like I can’t breathe, when I hear those stupid indie bands you like, and whenever I’m feeling afraid, because you always have been, and you always will be. I’m going to miss you Harry, I’m going to miss you every day and more than anything in the entire world, but I just want you to know that because of you, I’m not scared. I’m not afraid anymore. So thank you, thank you so much.”

He smiled a thin lipped smile, looking down at the notebook in his lap. “That’s it I guess.”

I looked over at Harry, his eyes trained on Zayn like he was really seeing him for the first time, a peculiar sadness in his eyes as he squeezed my fingers in his, bringing our clasped hands up to his chin and sinking his head against them His lips parted for a moment like he was about to say something, then closed again before he finally spoke. “I’m going to miss you too, Zayn.”

Zayn laughed bitterly, reaching over to briefly grip Harry’s free hand. “You can’t miss people when you’re dead, Haz.”

Harry looked down at the quilt. “But if I could I’d miss you.”

xx

I went last. 

We’d taken another small break after Zayn’s letter, but no one really had much to talk about. My heart was heavy in a nearly tangible way, pulling itself deep in my chest, a fighting kite string snapped by glass shards.

It was beginning to get dark as I started, nerves swooping low in my stomach, Harry’s head in my lap and a soft purple drifting through the window. It was quiet as I cleared my throat, my words swimming across the lines as I watched, suddenly dense and inadequate. They were the best I could do.

“In the beginning, I didn’t know I needed you.” I began, pushing through the tremors rocking my voice. “I was never meant to need you, I wasn’t looking to find you, and I wasn’t going to love you. The thing is, before I met you I really don’t think I needed someone like you. I was okay, floating along in shallow water. I was like you, I didn’t want and I didn’t feel, I just was.” 

I focused on the feeling of his cheek pressed to my thigh, thinking of the emotions lacing his skin, how he brought out the fire in my blood in a way that should have scared me but just made me feel alive. “You taught me what it was like to feel, taught me the importance of caring even when you didn’t want me to.”

I didn’t look at him, watching the slanting slope of my writing instead, afraid I’d get sunk in his eyes and forget how to surface again. “Thinking back, I first started needing you during that first phone call, when I sang to you and I told you about the cancer and you listened. You have such a way with listening, like you’re picking up the words that fall from my mouth and holding them to your chest like I matter to you. I just remember singing Fix You and then falling asleep to your breathing. Falling asleep to your breathing is my favorite thing in the world.”

I could feel the ball of sadness growing inside my stomach, low and swirling as I spoke, a desperation to hold him close to make sure he was never allowed to slip through my fingers. “I started loving you that night in the bakery when you perched on the counter in the orange light of the kitchen and taught me how to measure. You probably don’t remember this, but when we sat on the floor and I told you that I wanted to buy you all the time in the world, I really truly did, and I still do. I’ve always wanted to give everything to you.”

I felt his hand as it crept up to my hip, fingers resting on the unforgiving edge of bone, hard joints and thin skin holding us together and to each other. Tissue paper flesh, curling ribbon veins and soft beating hearts. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met and you have no idea how special you are. You’re so good in ways I’ll never be able to be. You’re unselfish almost to a fault and you care more than anyone I’ve ever met, even when you’ve forgotten that you have to care for yourself too.”

“I guess what I’m saying is that I’m so glad I met you. I don’t know if I believe in fate or luck, but some part of me thinks that I was meant to know you. It’s only been four months, but it feels like I’ve been waiting to love you my entire life, but I didn’t know until I saw you and knew I had to save you, that I needed you to save me. 

I took a deep breath, wishing away the thickness in my throat and the tears threatening to prick at my eyes. “I’m only as good as your love makes me, and I can only hope to live up to who you believe I can be. Loving you makes me want to be that person, because you deserve them, you deserve someone much better than me. It makes me want to live for you even when my entire body feels like its going to rip itself apart.”

I could feel my voice dropping in volume, ribcage collapsing as I spilled my heart out. I really couldn’t live without him, no matter how many times I convinced myself I’d be okay when he was gone. In the end, I think Harry was better equipped with life without me than I was for life without him. “I want to spent all odd hours with you, make tea with to you and kiss you when we get home from work, to fall asleep next to you every night and not have to wonder if you’re going to know me in the morning.”

“I know we don’t get a happy ending, but its all been worth it for all our happy numbered days. You’re so special to me, and you’re always going to be special to me. Loving you changed me. You made me better than I knew I could be, you made me want to be better for you because you’re the best person I’ve ever met and I love you.”

“So I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m never going to forget you. Not as long as I live and long after I’m not.”

It was only after I’d managed to get the last words out, my eyes surprisingly dry, an emptiness in my bones, was I able to look down at Harry. He stared up at me from his partial perch in my lap, something like wonder in his eyes.

“You changed me too.” He said, his words like a secret, too loud in the silence even as he whispered. 

“I love you so much.” I replied, setting the paper down so I could touch him, some part of my convinced he couldn’t possibly real.

He nodded, curling even closer to me. “Thankyou.”

Chapter 25

 

May 3rd - Day 105

I woke up to soft murmuring whimpers dripping from Harry’s lips, his body curled in on itself, hands fisted in the sheets, forehead pressed against the mattress. His eyes were squeezed shut so tightly it must have painful, a thin sheen of sweat shiny on his forehead. 

The clock on the bedside table clicked 4:06, the hospital room dark but for the light from the door. I tried to block it with my body, to shield him as best as I could from the outside world. 

“Is it a headache, love?” I murmured, moving to take his hands, remembering the way he’d clutched at my fingers last time, using them as a lifeline.

He froze at the contact, shrinking away from my skin. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me.” It was soft, frantic like he was fighting to get the words out as fast as he could. 

“Harry it’s just me.” I soothed, reaching for the call button, trying my best to comfort him. “It’s Louis.”

He merely squeezed his eyes tighter. “I don’t- No-” A breath that broke somewhere near a sob, then: “Don’t touch me.”

I nodded, biting my bottom lip so hard I was sure it would rip open and spill all the blood in my body down my chin as I drew myself slowly off the bed, being careful not to jostle him. He was in pain and it wasn’t his fault he didn’t know who I was. It wasn’t his fault he was pushing me away. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t need me.

I backed slowly up to the closet, my back hitting the door with a clack that made him flinch. _I’m just hurting him, I’m hurting him and I can never stop hurting him._ Tremors crept up and down my arms, shivers dancing across my skin as I sunk to the floor. I needed to help him, I needed to fix him and make everything okay for him because I couldn’t be okay until he was. 

I couldn’t even hold him while he fought against himself. I couldn’t even let him know he wasn’t alone.

Kaya rushed into the room with no more than a soft look at me, huddled with my knees brought up to my chest, fingers pulling at my cheeks, frustrated tears threatening to overflow. I wanted to leave so badly, to leave Hope here and run until my limited oxygen wasn’t enough to sustain me, until my lungs filled up and I drowned and drowned and drowned. Sitting here, I was drowning already.

But I stayed where I was, a shaking ball on the floor because in the end I couldn’t leave him for a million painful reasons. Because I promised I’d always be there, even when he’d forgotten why he wanted me to stay.

Because, as John Green says, love is keeping the promise anyway.

And so I was going to keep it, even though he probably wouldn’t ever know I had. Keep it even though it hurt to look at him. Keep it even as it tore me apart.

When it came down to it, I had no choice in the matter.

May 5th - Day 107

I watched him from the other side of the table, a frown pulling at the corners of my mouth even as I tried to configure it into a smile. We had moved ourselves down to the tiny coffee shop for the afternoon, grabbing a tiny table near the picture windows. The sky outside was gray and overcast, occasionally spitting droplets like it couldn’t decide whether or not it wanted to rain. 

“Seems strange that it’s spring already.” He said, looking up from his book to sneak a glance outside. 

I nodded, pretending I’d actually been reading my novel of choice as opposed to just looking at him. It was another one of those times where both of us knew what was happening but neither had the heart to stop it. “I don’t really like spring.” I replied, thinking fondly on this past winter, snug in sweaters and the comfort of Harry’s hand in mine. Ironically enough, I’d managed to find my warmth in the snow covered months.

“I’ll miss the snow, but a little sun never hurt anyone.” He smiled, cheeks barely dimpling now. I tried not to watch the way his body trembled, how sometimes his movements seemed to drag and jerk without his permission. 

_Don’t fall apart on me yet, Love._

I shrugged, jabbing a thumb at the sky. “It’s England, we don’t get any sun no matter what season it is.”

I got a soft chuckle out of that. “True, but I like spring. It’s all about new beginnings.” He tapped his fingers across the open pages of his book. “I’m glad I got to see it, it’s my favorite season actually.”

It was strange, this feeling that took me over whenever we talked, a sharp happiness undercut with a slow growing sadness. A hint of something like fear. “I’m glad you got to see it too.”

He reached across the table, taking two fingers softly down my hollowed cheek, brushing against the tubes carrying oxygen into my beleaguered body. “Don’t look so sad.”

I trapped his hand with mine, threading our fingers together on the formica. “You know I can’t help it.”

He nodded, seeming to meditate for a moment before leaning out over the table and pecking me quickly on the lips. “So I have news.”

I nodded slowly, his carefully offhand tone making me nervous in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. “Good news?”

He seemed to deliberate on that before nodding, a smile on his face that was purely for my benefit. “Great news.”

I smiled back, playing with his fingers and holding them steady. “Well then tell me what it is you big idiot.”

“There’s this procedure.” He took one of his pauses and for once I didn’t find it endearing, each second painful. 

“And...?”

“And they think if we get lucky it might be able to save my life.” The smile that followed was too fake to comfort me.

“And if we don’t get lucky?”

He bit at his lips, replying in a voice as fragile as glass. “Well its not without risks...”

I squeezed his hand. “Harry...”

“It’s experimental. It might not work.”

I could feel the dread growing in my stomach. “Not work?”

“There’s a chance of brain damage.” He looked down into his lap. “I mean they expect at least some complications. I might not-” The words seemed to catch in his throat. “Make it, you know?”

Breathing got a little bit harder. “So is it really worth it then? You could die, Haz.” I replied, once again marveling at Harry’s strange relationship with death. When I’d met him, he’d wanted nothing more than to die, believing himself dead upon diagnoses, but now with the chance to live again or lose it all, he was coming apart.

He froze for a moment, then sunk in on himself, shoulders hunching. “I don’t know. I want to live. I want to be alive and I want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you too.”

Something inside him seemed to break at my words, a dam crashing down inside his mind and letting everything he was feeling pour out. “It’s not fair, I don’t want them to cut me open and I don’t want chemo and I just don’t want to hurt anymore.” He dug the heel of his free hand across his eyes, wiping away the tears gathering at the edges. “I’m tired of fighting. I just want to take you and run away from our bodies.”

“Me too.” I left the red armchair I’d been occupying, squeezing next to Harry in his blue one, wrapping my arms around him. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now.”

He shook his head frantically. “I do. It’s in a week.”

I paused, lips halfway to his skin. “What?”

He sniffed, cuddling up against me. “There was a waiting list, but the other person died so they fit me in.” I could feel his shoulders shake. “Oh God that sounds so terrible.”

“It’s not terrible.” I soothed, though really it was. The whole thing was terrible, though I supposed it should have been a blessing. I knew the surgery could save him, or at least give just a little bit longer, but it could also kill him. Some part of me thought that maybe killing him would be kinder.

“It is.” 

I nosed at his cheek, pressing his body to my chest. “I know, but we can figure it out together, okay?”

He nodded, eyes shut against the panic he must have been holding inside all morning. I wondered at how it must have eaten away at him while he tried to figure out how to tell me, fighting the urge to never let me know at all. “I have to do it. She’s so happy. She thinks... She thinks it’s going to make everything better.”

“Whatever you do, I’ll be there no matter what.” I assured him, feeling a sudden surge of hatred towards Harry’s mother, the woman unable to see what she was doing to him. He wasn’t even allowed the luxury of dying in peace because she just couldn’t let him go. It was a painful push and pull as she fought to keep him with him alive and he tried his best to make her happy, even if it killed him.

In the end, I didn’t think there was a such thing as getting more time, that we could only watch as it ran out at an alarming rate. From where I stood, the year it might buy him could easily seem like an infinity. We could travel, commit each other’s quirks to heart, move in together and soak in the comfort of soft mornings and lazy afternoons. 

But then it was just another forever of hurting, one more year of breaking down, of the insurmountable deadline of death, of fear and waking up in the middle of the night wishing for some kind of end. It would be another year of being torn slowly from life, and that felt like an infinity too. 

It was more time, but I was beginning to think that sometimes it’s better to surrender to what you’ve been given. You can only save people for so long.

I knew he knew, I could feel it in his movements and the way his breathe caught, and so I didn’t say any more, just squeezed him tighter as he replied in a small whisper. “Thankyou for being there.” He pressed his face against my neck, breathing ragged against my skin.

“As if I could leave.” 

And so we sat together as I pressed comfort to him the best I could, just another couple crying in a hospital, trying to put together things that couldn’t be fixed.

May 9th - Day 111

The time since he told me about the procedure passed slowly. I’d had chemo the day after the announcement, making me feel horrible and dull for a solid two days as I tried to sleep off the sickness. Harry had gleefully texted me the first evening, asking if I was having fun trying to keep food down. I’d pretended to be offended, though I couldn’t forget the reason he’d skipped this round of treatment. When they cut you open they want you to be as well as possible.

When I saw him that Tuesday we trekked through the halls of the hospital, his wheelchair squeaking across the tile as he pushed it with shaky arms, Hope dragging slowly behind me. We had no particular destination as we crossed the broad expanses of tile and industrial carpet, only a strange desire to move.

I could feel each breath of oxygen rip itself through my lungs, my body working too hard for the slow steps I was taking. This was probably a bad idea, this pilgrimage we’d decided to take through the florescent halls against the warnings of our bodies, but if was satisfying somehow. It felt like maybe if we walked far enough, we could escape our demons.

Somehow we ended up on the roof, the sun just peaking out from the clouds, warming my skin against the sharp bite of the wind. It was a sharp contrast to the first time we’d come up here, when I couldn’t touch him for the fear he wouldn’t touch me back. Now I was more afraid that I’d break him.

“They said its going to take six hours.” He said, wheeling close to the edge of the roof, wheels nearly hitting the concrete barrier. I lowered myself carefully to the ground, resting one hand on his chair like with it I could save him from plummeting to the pavement. 

“Maybe I’ll get a nap in.” I replied, tone deliberately cheerful as I got my breath back. “I’ve heard the waiting room chairs are pretty comfortable.”

He smiled wryly. “They aren’t too bad.”

“So what time are you going in, when should I stop by?” 

He shrugged. “It’s going to start at 12:30, so maybe around nine? They’ve got to do prep first, but you should have some time.”

Which was a funny thing to say, like I could possibly have enough time to say goodbye.

“I fully expect to take you out to dinner afterwards.” I said, reaching up to squeeze his hand. “I’ll buy you all the expensive food you can’t eat.”

He laughed, dimples appearing in his cheeks, the sickness seeming to fade a little from his face. “I’ll take you up on that. You better drag my drugged up body out to the nicest restaurant you can find.”

I choked back a laugh, knowing the consequences of happiness on my poor lungs. “Well now you can’t die on me. You’d miss your date.”

He slid carefully out of his chair and moved to kiss me, his lips slightly chapped and not quite as warm as they’d been the first time on the roof. Somehow, sitting in the wan sunlight, falling even as we held each other up, it was even better than the sunrise. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

I kissed him again, murmuring my reply against his mouth. “You better not.”

His lips tasted like a goodbye.

May 17th - Day 119

It was 8:47 AM and quite possibly the last time I’d ever see Harry Styles. We’d spent the last week being hopeful when we weren’t fighting back tears and he still knew who I was, but upon waking up this morning all I could find in my chest was a quiet curling of dread. Nothing really felt real anymore, nothing except Harry and sometimes Liam, the rest of the world just wax figures my fingers slipped against.

As I rode the train in silence, I was struck by the notion that this probably wasn’t healthy, that I was supposed to be the strong one and this was most certainly not being strong. This was Louis Tomlinson falling apart. 

I knew before I reached his room that he wouldn’t remember me, in the intangible way you know when someone you love is hurt or that you’ve done badly on something. That didn’t mean I was exempt from the bite of hurt that flashed in my stomach when he looked up at me with curious eyes. “Hello.”

I smiled at him, that fake thing I was becoming so good at. Lies fell smoothly from my tongue now. “Hi, I’m Louis. I’m going to talk with you a bit about your procedure, is that okay?”

He stared up at me for a long moment, that familiar near recognition sparkling in his exhausted gaze. He looked so tired, like he wasn’t anything more than folded paper, blood, and eyes that swam with exhaustion, like the smallest drops of rain could dissolve him into nothing. I think if given the choice, I’d give everything I had just to take his pain away. “That’s fine.”

“Great.” I moved to sit cross legged at the bottom of his bed, the worn star duvet soft underneath me. “Are you nervous?”

“A little.” He looked down at his hands. 

I wished I could get him to speak the words I could see crawling underneath his skin, to be able to tell him it was going to be alright so he could understand me. “Are you scared of dying?”

He seemed surprised by the question, eyes getting just a little bit wide for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“I think I am.” I said, letting the charade fall a little bit. _I love you. I love you so so much and I’m more afraid that you could ever be. I’m afraid that I won’t be able to hold it together without you. How did that happen, Harry? How did that happen?_

“Wouldn’t it be nice, if when you were dead you could just swim in your memories?” He asked, interrupting my train of thought. “If you could just spend the rest of forever traveling in your mind?”

 _I’d spend my forever in oceans of you._ “I don’t think anything hurts over there.” I commented, my lungs aching with every inhale, my heart with every exhale. “I wonder if you can feel anything at all.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll find out for you.”

“I hope not.”

He tried for a smile. “I hope not too.”

I heard a scuffling at the door, looking up as Kaya appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand. I noticed her face fall as she spotted us, a composed sadness drifting over her features. “They want to see you Harry, there are a few quick tests they still need to run.” She could barely look at me. “There’s no hurry, I mean, if you’re still talking.”

He shrugged, moving to slide off the bed. “It’s okay.” His cotton tee shirt hung loose on his waist, joggers riding impossibly low on his slim hips. The sickness had eaten away at both of us, but as I watched him maneuver himself clumsily towards his wheelchair I became acutely aware of how thin he’d become, something nearly avian in the way he moved, wide glassy eyes and delicate bones that stretched his pale skin. I found myself darting out, helping him into the chair.

“Thanks.” He murmured, a thin lipped smile of gratitude. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

A brief flash of hope scampered into my chest. “Louis, its Louis.”

He peered hard at me, stare going intense for a moment as it held mine. 

“Why do you ask?” My hand lingered on the plastic arm, caught in his orbit and unable to pull away.

He shrugged, the moment passing with a half smile and a head flick left over from when he still had curls. “Nothing, I just though you looked like someone I used to know.”

“I get that a lot.” Lately, I had been. “Good luck.”

He nodded, lips curling into a smile. “Thanks.”

He started to turn for the door, the desire to take him into my arms one last nearly painful. My hands nearly shook with it, a need to hold him and make him remember who I was. But he wouldn’t, and I couldn’t, so I just wrapped my arms tightly around myself and pretended I was shaking from the chill.

“See you soon.” I said in some strange combination of an invocation and a promise. 

He turned to take one last look at me. “Yeah?”

I smiled, crossing my fingers and holding them up for him to see. “Six hours.” He leveled a quick affirmative nod at me before Kaya wheeled him away, her face almost guilty as she snuck a backwards glance in my direction. 

I looked down at the floor where Hope sat at my feet, keeping me alive. “See you soon.”

Chapter 26

 

May 17th - Day 119

The waiting room was cold. 

My hands were cold.

I was cold.

Cold, always cold. 

I repeated it slowly in my head until the word lost its meaning. I’d been doing that all morning really, repeating words until I forgot what they meant and the letters jumbled together.

Sorry, please, okay, tired, sick, all reduced to syllables.

It was only Harry that never really lost its meaning no matter how many times it slid around inside my skull. 

I could see the clock from where I sat, the second hand trickling across the face and drawing ever closer to the six hour mark. Six hours, six months, and an infinity I would forever be stuck in. 

I’d managed to identify Harry’s family across the waiting room, his sister looking like she wanted to exit her skin just as much as I did, his father stern, his mother barely moving as she snuck glances up at the clock. I knew then I couldn’t truly hate her. She might have been selfish, but here, watching her pick at her cuticles I knew that she’d only wanted what was best for him. She’d just never known the right way to love him.

I pulled my hands deep in the sleeves of the jumper I was wearing, ducking my head against the collar so I could breathe in Harry. I’d stolen it after he’d left, the same one he’d worn that time we’d baked together, his smell still lingering in the creamy knit. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend he was still here with me.

I wanted him to live. I wanted him to live so badly, to lightly kiss his bandages and then later his scars and assure him that he still looked beautiful. I wanted him to remind me I was okay and that I was stronger than I believed. 

I wanted to take away his suffering and make him never hurt again, for his tumors to shrink into remission and leave him well, for us to be able to live as we should have been able to in some white house in the sunshine. Together.

I’d always been a little cynical when it came to love, but I think some part of me had thought that if it did exist it was somehow unbreakable, that if two people were truly in love nothing should ever be able to break them apart. Sitting here, sending prayers out into the void I thought that maybe my cynical heart had been right all along.

We would not get a forever. We could not truly take away each other’s pain. Even if he made it through today I could only save him for so long. Our love was merely flimsy solace in a world that was always so very cold.

I couldn’t get everything I’d wanted for him and for us, but I guess the privilege of loving him for six months is more than some people ever have. I thought of his eyes, of the way he’d clutched at my fingers when I was the only thing he could remember to hold on to, and I knew that maybe wherever he ended up he’d miss me just as much as I missed him.

I knew I shouldn’t be this attached, but I’d never really had a choice in the matter. There are some people you love out of habit, because they’ve always been there and always will be, who you can trust with anything because they know you better than you know yourself. 

Then there are those who creep into your life and send you spinning. They change you and you know somewhere deep inside that this, this is what you’ve been searching for your entire life. They’re perfect and impossible and hurt so much when they leave, because at some point you’ve forgotten how you ever survived before them.

In many ways, Harry was both.

xx

It was 4:26 when the doctor came out and made a somber beeline for Harry’s family, clipboard clutched in white hands. I couldn’t see what he said, couldn’t see as he formed words with pale lips, but I saw the way his mother crumpled, how his sister jumped to her feet, eyes wild.

“Do you see now?!” And it wasn’t a scream, something worse that hovered between a cry and an accusation. “Do you see what you did?” She brought a hand up to her hair, clutching it with desperate fingers. “You couldn’t fucking save him! And now he’s dead because you couldn’t ever get that through your head. You couldn’t just fucking let him die!” 

I could only watch in numb horror as she spun around, angry tears already spilling down her face as she ran out of the waiting room, her hair flying being her the very same shade as his. I didn’t watch as his mother broke, only stood slowly, my aching body crying out in protest as I trudged out of the waiting room, the show over, credits already played, the lights in the theatre coming up as I walked down the aisle. Movie’s over, everybody out.

It was like there was a short in my brain, lost in the confusion of _he’s gone_ and he can’t be gone and _how could he possibly be gone._ I didn’t know where I was walking until I ended up in his doorway, starry sheets still pulled messily across the mattress, bedside table cluttered, his tiny lamp still on, like maybe he’d only stepped out for a moment. Like he’d be back soon.

I didn’t cry as I slipped my shoes off, couldn’t cry as I slipped my bag off my shoulders and lowered myself onto the bed. I arranged my tubes around me with careful precision, pulling the covers up to my chin and burying my face in his pillow.

The sheets had gone cold, but they still smelled like him.

I closed my eyes and let myself drift into sleep if only so I wouldn’t have to think, knowing that one of my initial predictions had become terribly true.

When Harry died, he had taken a piece of me with him.

When I was woken up by the nursing staff a few hours later, there was a small moment between sleep and awake where I thought I could still feel his arms around me, his lips pressed against my neck, comforting murmurs whispered against my skin.

The moment passed.

xx

The apartment was so quiet.

Liam and Danielle had unwillingly left me to my own devices hours ago, reminding me to eat, to move around a bit, maybe get some fresh air. Which was how I’d found myself laying on the floor half wrapped in a blanket. I’d started out watching tv to try and take my mind off everything, but I couldn’t even do that much, staring blankly at the screen for close to an hour before turning it off.

It was supposed to get better, I was fairly sure, this hollowness that slept in my joints and made everything impossible, but it seemed horrifyingly permanent, like sadness was making its home in my body. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to forget him or never let him leave my mind for as long as I lived.

I felt restless, an urge to scream and break things and run until I found him again, but also like I had molasses for blood. I had a feeling that I was supposed to deal with his death somehow, but all I could think was that I just wanted to touch him one more time. I wanted to say goodbye and I wanted him to be able to say it back.

I wanted to take him out on the date he hadn’t made it to.

The worst parts were the seconds between the realizations where it slipped my mind for just an instant that I couldn’t ever see him again, the brief moment before I remembered that the person who’d stopped me from falling wasn’t there to catch me anymore.

He was gone.

Laying here, it felt like a lot of me was gone too.

I became vaguely aware of a knocking at the door, an insistent tapping that roused me from my stupor. Slowly, I raised myself from the floor, muscles aching, hands slipping out of the long sleeves of the pale jumper I still hadn’t taken off. I trudged slowly to the peephole, finding Zayn on the other side.

I thought about just staying like this, about staring at him through the plastic until he walked away, but I couldn’t do that to him. Still, I knew talking to him might hurt, and I couldn’t quite decide if that was better or worse than the numbness.

The look in his eyes won out, the way they stared down at his hands, a tiny tremor shaking his fingers, looking just as lost as I felt. I twisted the knob, opening the door but not letting him in. Letting him in would hurt.

At this point, I’d managed to group most decisions into what would hurt and what would help me feel nothing. There wasn’t really a group for better.

He looked up as I opened the door, not bothering to try for a smile. Neither of us would have bought it if he had. “You alright?” He asked, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his varsity jacket, the smell of smoke hanging heavy around him. 

I shrugged. “No.”

He nodded. “Me neither.”

I think that if I were to make another category, something a little bit past nothing and not all that close to better, it would be Zayn. It was nearly comforting, being able to look into his eyes and see the same thing that was mirrored into mine. “Do you want to come in?” 

He shook his head, because it was really more common courtesy than an offer. I wouldn’t be able to handle him in my house and he wouldn’t be able to handle it either. It was just another exercise in the improv game known as Louis and Zayn are definitely coping just fine.

“I have something for you. They found it in his drawer when the were cleaning out his room.”

My heart did a funny thing where it tried to jump out through my ribs. “Yeah?”

He nodded, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a piece of folded notebook paper, my name printed on it in familiar hand. “I didn’t read it.”

I nodded, not sure I remembered how to form words. My hands felt light as I reached for it, weightless fear soft in my stomach. I unfolded the paper slowly, being agonizingly careful not to ruin the last piece of Harry I had left, and started to read.

Dear Louis,

I should be sleeping right now but I can’t. It’s three o’clock and I wish you’d stayed tonight. I know we agreed it was better this way, but I need you. I know you’d probably want me to call, but its getting hard to speak. I think there’s something really wrong with me, I keep forgetting and remembering and I feel like my mind is going to bleed out my ears. My whole body feels wrong. I’m sorry if I can’t finish this, I’m trying my best.

If you’re reading this right now, I guess that means I didn’t make it through tomorrow. I’m so sorry. I tried so hard to stay alive for you, but I don’t know if I can anymore. I don’t think I’m just forgetting you, I think my body is forgetting how to keep me alive.

I guess I should probably take a moment to let you know how much I love you if this really is the best goodbye we’re going to get. I hope I still remember you when I wake up tomorrow, but I don’t know anymore, so if there is anything I need to tell you I should probably tell you here. I know you said in your letter that I made you a better person, but I have a secret for you. You’ve always been that person, you just didn’t know before. You’re amazing and you don’t give yourself enough credit for it. You saved my life Louis Tomlinson, and you still think you got the better end of the deal.

I know that in TFiOS it says that the marks the humans leave are too often scars, but I don’t think you’re going to leave a scar. I’ve seen you with your patients, with the people you love and I do think you’re going to leave something good behind. You can’t save the world or change it, but you made it a better place for all those people. For me.

I can feel a headache coming, so I’m going to try and keep this brief. I’m sorry I put you through this, that you had to watch me die. I’m sorry I missed our date, that I never got to sit across the table from you at some stupidly expensive restaurant and try to eat with drug heavy hands. I’m sorry that we’re never going to be able to grow old together, that we can’t ever be a family, that I can’t ever get down on one knee and ask you to never leave me. I mean, I don’t know if you want all that, but I do. Just because I can’t ever have it doesn’t mean I don’t want it. I’m sorry that I’m not going to be there to help you get well. I’m sorry that I can’t hold your hand when you don’t remember that you’re strong.

I want you to promise me that you won’t stay sad, that you’ll live even if I can't. I know you can, you’ve always been stronger than me. You have to go on, fight the cancer and find someone who loves you like I do. I want you to be happy and to be brave.

Don’t worry about me, I’m probably okay now, or something close to it. I still don’t know if there’s a pearly white forever, but if there is, I promise I’ll wait for you there, no matter how long it takes. Just because my heart stops doesn’t mean I’m not going to be there for you. You’ve always had me and you always will. Even when I lost my memory, it was never forever. I’ll always come back to you and you can always come back to me.

Forever and always yours,

Harry.

There was a long moment between when I finished and when I looked up at Zayn where I forgot how to breathe. I stared down at the paper, tracing the messy lines of his letter with my eyes, watching as they devolved into jerkier messy script towards the end. It was almost like holding a piece of him in my hands, his final goodbye, a promise, his heart, cut out and presented on a piece of wrinkled notebook paper bleeding out _this is how much I love you._ Present tense.

“I just miss him so much.” I said, biting my lip, wrapping my arms around myself, emotion like I hadn’t felt since the numbness set in flowing up through my veins. Harry wasn’t perfect, he was a little bit insufferable, sometimes a little bit pigheaded, and broken in a way that no amount of love could ever really fix, but that didn’t mean I didn’t love him more than anything. Somehow when his flaws lined up with my own they made something that was as close to perfect as anyone could get. “I want him back. I just want to get him back.” And then I was crying, soft aching sobs that felt like my chest was ripping open, my spine curling over as I tried to keep my body together.

I felt Zayn’s arms as they wrapped around me, the shake in his breaths as we held onto each other, some gross parody of the time we’d hugged outside the bowling alley when Harry was still alive.

He didn’t speak at first, just tucked my head into the crook of his shoulder, fingers clutching the soft fabric of my jumper. “You smell like him.” He said against my hair, his words broken.

“The jumper was his.” I murmured against Zayn’s shirt, drowning in citrus and cigarette smoke.

He nodded slowly, clutching me to his chest like he could keep himself afloat that way. “So were you.”

xx

It’s warm the day of the wake, flickering sunlight falling down from between the clouds, my white jumper slightly too heavy for the temperature. Danielle made me wash it, but if I wish hard enough I can still pretend it holds the smallest bit of him in its threads.

I walk slowly down the pavement, my oxygen tank clicking every time I hit a bump, only stopping by the ornate wooden doors to look at the first few flowers poking their purple and yellow heads up above the woodchips.

“You’d like those.” I murmur, because somehow talking to him makes it easier, like I could look over and he’d be sitting in his chair, leaning out to try and pick one. “Spring was always your favorite season.” 

I lean down slowly, pulling a pretty yellow one out of the ground and twirling it between my fingers before heading inside. No one pays much attention to me as I walk in, eyes on the carpet as I realize how much I really don’t want to be here.

I want to see him but I don’t want to say goodbye.

I’m able spot his mother and father in the corner, his sister hovering over by the casket like she’s keeping vigil beside him. Zayn and Niall are over by some picture boards, hands clasped tight as they whisper comfort to each other. It strikes me for a moment that I should probably go over to talk to them, but instead I find myself walking slowly over to the where he lies, unblinking and unbreathing.

It’s a closed casket, just another reminder that they’d ruined him before they killed him, taken him apart and never put him back together again. I wait my turn as some blonde girl walks slowly past, then walk up myself, hiding the shaking in my hands by clutching the tiny green stem in my fingers. It’s not something anyone thinks about all that much, but in the end a body is just a bundle of bones and skin, and its not really Harry locked inside the wood but a shell of what he used to be. He’s here, but in all the important ways, he’s forever out of my grasp.

“How did you know him?”

My head jerks up at her whisper, meeting green eyes just a shade off from his. I struggle to find an answer, an adequate way to put our relationship into words. My mind comes up blank, organs still not quite accustomed to working without him.

Her eyes flicker down, seeming to notice the knit of my jumper, the tubes wrapping around my body. “Oh, it’s you.”

“It’s me.”

She just nods, no warm words of consolation or assurances of love, just a nod that communicates all she can. She’s not going to hug me and we aren’t going to exchange tearful guarantees to assure ourselves it will all be okay, but there’s something in her expression that I understand better, a quiet promise that she loved him just as much as I did. Do.

I return the nod, turning to look at the hard lacquered surface, placing the tiny flower on the top, a tiny impermanent offering of something beautiful. It’s not much, but then we never really had much to begin with, just six small months and all the love we could give.

Not quite six months, in the end.

I run a hand slowly across the looping engravings. I think that maybe if people only truly exist inside their minds, if life is nothing more than animated consciousness, then Harry isn’t really truly dead, or at least not for me.

In some ways, he’ll live inside of my mind as long as I do, soft lips and eyes lit up with a clear green light, the dream I could never quite reach. 

Standing here, taking slow breaths of the only hope I still have, I’m terribly sure that even as the days warm and new life leaves the confines of the ground, I will forever be stuck in the winter with Harry, our bodies slowly buried underneath endless feet of snow.

I lean down, pressing my lips to the cool wood, its surface hard and unforgiving, keeping me firmly entombed on the outside. “I’ll see you soon, Harry.” I murmur, eyelids shifting closed so I can see him, tears swimming down my cheeks.

_I’ll see you soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god i just reread why did i write this WHAT HAVE I CREATED I’m so sorry you guys oh my god come here let my hug you i’m sorry i did this. Okay, deep breathes. Maybe I should have written the thankyou before I reread this was a bad decision.  
> Thankyou Robin, for letting me takeover your blog.  
> Thankyou Maggie, for forcing me to bring this story to fruition, for helping me hack out the plot, for giving me edits I sometimes gleefully ignored, and being great.  
> Thankyou Monica, for being a fantastic spelling editor.  
> Thankyou Cam, for liveblogging your reading to me and basically being adorable and perfect and making me cry while you cried.  
> Thankyou larrysinlove, for reblogging and fangirling about this story on your blog. You are honestly one of the sweetest shippers and basically you’re great.  
> Thankyou to chasingideas, imperiala, comehomelouis, and lionswouldbeeasiertospeakto for reblogging and just being sweet and great.  
> And thankyou to you, whoever has managed to make it this far, because I poured my entire Summer into this story and if you’ve managed to make it all the way to the end then I am forever in your debt. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, that you made it through the fluff and the cries and even the ridiculous porn. I can only hope I gave TFiOS, Louis, and Harry the story they deserve.
> 
> So goodbye for now I think. (: I had so much fun with this, you guys were all great and your reactions never ceased to make me smile. Even though this story is over I'm certainly not done with the writing thing. (: I think from now on I’ll tag anything I write with mattiewrites so if you want to track that then you can see if I post anything new.
> 
> Also ! There's an epilogue as well, you can find it on my main ao3 page, its called Clarity.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it, because this stupid thing literally took over my life.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at infinitylourry & hellagrumpy


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